Requiem for War
by zsarah
Summary: With the memory of those lost, and a plan in place Hermione Granger sets out to change the future from which she came. AU/ Battle of Hogwarts, Time Travel, War Stories. Rating for violence and general content.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello my lovelies,**

 **Welcome to my newest story. It has been a while since I've posted anything, but I have been fairly active in regards to my reading. I follow a ton of excellent stories and have a bunch favorited if you want to check some out.**

 **I definitely have clichés that I like, primarily I love a BA Hermione. I also love fix-it stories because I am a sucker for a happy ending. So here is my contribution to the semi-classic 'Hermione goes back in time and fixes everything.' In a departure from other elements of this cliché I am avoiding romance being a central focus, in fact, I have no plans for romance at all at this point in time. Oh dear… I wrote that sentence how I speak… How embarrassing as a writer.**

 **Getting back on point, I don't know exactly where this story is going, I have a direction in mind, but this is a new experience for me. I am sailing in uncharted waters.**

 **A few disclaimers before you read any further, I don't own any of this as it all belongs to our Empress and Goddess, Queen JK Rowling. I also find most OFCs leave a bad taste in my mouth, so most of the characters I mention are coming direct from cannon, or direct from the Harry Potter Wiki, even if its just family names, I like to keep things in line with the rules already set out for us. However saying that, this is fanfiction and this goes AU during the Battle of Hogwarts. It is also Hermione centric and will revolve around her dealing with her multiple issues and what it means to live life during a time of war.**

 **I hope you enjoy what my brain has spat out for you, and as always, reviews are welcome and appreciated.**

 **Hugs and Kisses,**

 **zsarah.**

```August 16, 1974

She walked on silent feet up the corridors she once called home as she readied herself for the last critical task in her plan. The midmorning sunlight warmed the stone floors of the empty hallways she knew like the back of her hand while an unnerving chill ran up her spine. She pressed past the itching of nervousness and focused her steps on the goal ahead of her. It was with a learned grace that came from experience in her surroundings and time fighting and running for her life that she approached her destination.

This was the place she once thought was safe her safe haven and home. Once upon a time, she had thought the castle walls were an impenetrable shield. But this wasn't her home yet, and she was no longer that naive. She had been shown the fallacy surrounding her more than once in her youth, and with age and experience came the wisdom that this was just an illusion of protection that the young were both fortunate and disadvantaged to have.

When she was a child, she had thought that the danger lived outside and that this fairytale come true would keep her protected. Now she knew the school housed something far more dangerous to herself and her plan than anything she would find outside the fantasy of sanctuary.

In a tower guarded by a gargoyle lived a man whose schemes had lead to the ruin of the world she had come from mere months ago. There were dangers outside, yes; but they were the dangers that a wand armed with skill and knowledge could defeat. The danger within was of a different sort. It was the danger of manipulation and politics; the belief that that one man could know the greater good for all. And the worst part, this man who played with lives as though they were chess pieces did so with a twinkle in his eye, a grandfatherly smile and the delusion that what he was doing was truly the right thing.

After three months of careful preparation, she was ready to take on the world, as well as Albus Dumbledore. With her thoughts carefully hidden behind a thick maze of occlumency and a reference from Horace Slughorn her in hand she walked up the to the statue guarding the headmaster's office ready to end the set up of her plan and get starting changing the future.

With her alias secure, contacts made, and information gathered, all she had to do now was get a job.

When the invasion of Hogwarts succeeded, those who were left alive after the second wave of attacks fled into the Dark Forest. They weren't many; a couple of dozen witches and wizards. Students, professors and everyday volunteers who had hoped to make the world a brighter place, left the last stronghold of resistance after the death of Harry Potter.

The first of those survivors to fall on their first night in the woods was Ginny Weasley, giving and taking life for the rest of them to survive. Her death was the catalyst that gave them all hope tinged with cynicism that they could survive long enough to turn the tide of the war.

So the motley group, hidden within the confines of the forest and fleeing between safe-houses, hunted by all manner of man and beast, cobbled together a plan to send one of their own back to before it got this bad. And with the deaths of Luna Lovegood, Victor Krum, Hector Dagworth-Granger, Dennis Creevy, George Weasley and Filius Flitwick, seven years after their planning began, Hermione Granger found herself in the same place she started, the middle of the Dark Forest on May 2, 1974 thirty years from the past she had left behind with just over three months to prepare.


	2. Chapter 2

May 2, 1974  
It was with no fanfare, other than the small pop that accompanied experienced aparation that a witch appeared in the middle of the Forbidden Forest under the waxing moon. If there had been any to see her they would have observed a petite woman of 25 years, face closed off from all emotion and body shrouded in layers of bloodstained clothes. They would have seen her fall to her knees in the peat of the forest, her tunic rippling around her and her trousers growing damp from the midnight dew. They would have smelled the black magic that lingered on her skin and heard the way her breath caught in her throat with suppressed sorrow and almost disbelieving success.

If anyone who knew her had observed her, they would have seen Hermione Granger, heartbroken and hopeful, and very different from the girl who had left Hogwarts after her sixth year. She was thinner than was healthy and stronger than expected from a combination of little food and hard work over a period of many years. What little skin was showing bore the marks of a hard life; scars from accidents and battle, rituals and torture. She had sacrificial blood smeared in ruins across her face and hands, and her clothes hung loose off her body. She had a small beaded purse pulsing with magic and enchantments hanging from her waist, several wands apart from her own strapped to her body along side several knives. This was a woman prepared for anything; a woman with nothing and everything to loose.

As she rested on the ground, her lips began to move and the emotions hidden behind her mask began to slip out. _Identity, integration, information._ One would have to strain to hear the whispers let loose from her lips. The three things she had to complete before the month of August ended.

If her plan was to work, she first needed to establish and identity for herself, which if it were to succeed would see her becoming the Bulgarian daughter of Hector Dagworth-Granger. After successfully integrating herself into the British wizarding world, she then needed to use what time she had remaining to confirm her identity, seek and receive employment at Hogwarts, and enter the inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix. It was an ambitious plan that had been ironed out in detail with her friends and companions in the future. She carried with her the ring of the late Ophelia Dagworth-Granger, given to her by the man who would become her father as he helped them plan for the eventuality of her joining his family, along with a detailed timeline of events, laws, and sanctions for this time and those ahead.

It was after going over the plan, she pulled a Vinewood wand from its ties against her forearm and magicked a mirror into existence in front of her. She looked at herself, truly studying her image for the first time in too many years. Her eyes bloodshot with restrained tears, her hair tied back in a messy tangle at the crown of her head several strands falling loose and sticking to her cheeks. Those same cheeks painted in her friends blood, the shapes falling into the hollows of her face, her collar spattered with the same blood that was still damp against her skin. With another flick of her wand she conjured a flannel and with a whispered word it was warm and wet. A luxury of frivolous magic she hadn't been able to take advantage of for some time.

Hermione focused on the details as she wiped away the only traces of her comrades she had left behind only minutes before. With her face cleansed, she set the bloodied rag to burn to ash, and with a string of words and charms drew the remaining drops of blood from her clothing and into the flame. Looking around and ensuring she forgot nothing and left no sign of herself behind, Hermione Granger rose to her feet in the center of the forest. In the place untouched in this time by the ritual circle and blood sacrifice, she dusted off the knees of her loose trousers and aparated away.


	3. Chapter 3

May 3, 1974  
It was only after half a day spent in chain aparation to the outskirts of the Dagworth-Granger wards in southern Spain that Hermione allowed herself to relax infinitesimally in the midday sun. The feeling of the wardline confirmed in her magically what her eyes confirmed visually.

The hot sun beat against the layers of clothes that had been necessary for May weather in Britain, but were more than excessive in the Spanish heat. She unbuckled the belt that held her tunic close to her body and pulled the buttons open in relief. Turning her face towards the sky, she let the sun sink into her skin for the first time in years.

After a moment of selfish indulgence she looked around at the clear sky and the sandstone cliffs before her. She turned and the ocean stretched out in front of her, calm azure lapping at the white sand. It was more beautiful than she could have possibly imagined and she fell to her knees in awe.

She had never been to this location in person and aparation by coordinate was a tricky business. She was glad that her calculations held true and she was able to arrive on schedule. The familiar feeling wards indicated she had found the home of her distant cousin, and soon to become father.

After several weeks of knowing the elderly potioneer hiding with them in future, after a long day of brewing the necessities of survival together, they sat and traded family trees over cups of strong tea. It had begun as a joke, not honestly expecting to find anything in common, but they quickly found that they were relatives, albeit distantly, and Hermione's hypothesis about Muggleborns having a squib in their family tree was proven in her case. This knowledge of a vague and easily forged connection also cemented her position as the one with the responsibility to change the future.  
Though she trusted that she had nothing to fear from the family wards, she was still cautious as she rose to her feet off the beach and let her magic reach out and touch the enchanted barrier separating her from the one thing that was uncertain in her plan. It all hinged on whether Hector the younger would be as willing to help as the elder version she knew.

As the magic of the wards examined her own, she held perfectly still. If what the old man in the future had told her was true, the family magic should accept her as one of its own and allow her entrance without an invitation from the paterfamilias. Her worries abound being blown to bits or refused entrance by hostile magic were unfounded and she let out a sigh of relief as the energy stopped examining her. It did the opposite and drew her forwards into the protection of the wards, recognizing her as a lost lamb of the family wanting into the fold. Now she only hoped the man she was to meet would be as welcoming as the family magic.

As she hiked the steps up the cliffs and approached the villa overlooking the Alboran she could see why the finicky ex-patriot settled here after his wife's death. The gentle waves, hot sun, and picturesque vineyard made this place the exact opposite of both Britain and Bulgaria, the two places this man had called home before.

The steps up to the front door were of tan sandstone and the front of the villa, pure white stucco. More of her fears and anxieties of this place being like the other pureblood manors she had the displeasure of being in melted away. Between the sun bleached stone and the warm sea breeze she knew this was a place of welcome and cleansing.

The door was opened before she could reach up and knock and there before her was only member of her family she had left.

His gaze upon her was more confused than anything else and she thought it was because of her ragged appearance, but it was more than that as he spoke in a suspicious tone, "You have the feel of a Granger, but to get here you would have to be a magical. Who are you?" He was open with his distrust of her person, but he obviously trusted what his magic told him about her heritage.

She was yet again relieved that this man wasn't all that different from the one she had left behind. Fewer lines surrounded his piercing dark eyes and his hair still held its colour, but he carried himself with the same pride and the same strength as he did 30 years in the future. With that thought, she put her life and her plan in the hands of the man before her, hoping he would continue to be the same. She reached into her bag and pulled out the ring he had given her in preparation for convincing himself of her identity. Figuring that melodrama would be the best way of at least getting him to listen she spoke clearly, "My name is Hermione Granger, I'm from the year 2004 and I need you to help me save the world."


	4. Chapter 4

May 3, 1974

Hector looked at her again with confusion, and then his eyes were drawn to the simple golden ring between her fingers. She knew she had him hooked when with a shaky breath he reached to his collar and pulled the chain holding the same ring from beneath his shirt. He looked between the two identical rings with the same scuffmarks and the same chipped sapphire, and let his breath out from between his teeth. "Perhaps you should come inside for a cup of tea." He continued under his breath, "Or maybe something a little stronger."

She let her feet carry her across the threshold as she said, "I'll take the tea, but you should wait until after my story for anything stronger." And as if mimicking him, she mumbled, "We'll probably both need it."

He led her to a small rustic kitchen with shutters open to let light and air into the space. The walls were the same sand colour as the steps outside the house and scattered around the space were plants and herbs that could be used for purposes both magical and mundane. Some were in pots by the window and some were hanging from the ceiling to dry. Hermione's organized mind catalogued all of the differing varieties and uses as she scanned the rest of the space.

The small study table was covered in papers, parchments, quills and surprisingly a fountain pen. With a flick of Hector's wand everything was sorted into stacks and moved to the mismatched sideboard across the room. The only other furniture in the kitchen were the two chairs by the table.

Hector silently gestured for her to take a seat as he began to prepare tea by hand. As steam began to rise from the kettle he took a pot and a set of mismatched cups from the cupboard, and began preparing them tea while Hermione observed. She could see he held onto his British roots with the strong black tea, but the kiflichki, soft cheese and cold cuts he put on a tray showed the influence of his late wife's Balkan heritage. He sat across from her as she poured for both of them and fixed his with a generous splash of milk and a small amount of sugar the way she remembered he liked it. She hoped using this insignificant and innocent foreknowledge would break the tension she saw in his eyes. She was right when he let out a chuffing laugh. The sound was less rusty from what she remembered, but it was a comfort to hear all the same.

Hector broke the long silence between them, "Well girl, if you hadn't had me interested before you certainly do now. Not many Brits still know how I take my tea. So tell me this tale you're out to convince me of."

Glad for the man's dry humour, Hermione took a sip of her tea and began. "I was born in London in the year 1979 to Helen and Sebastian Granger. I thought I was just a normal kid who weird things happened to until my eleventh birthday when on September 19, 1990 I received a visit from Minerva McGonagall telling me I was a witch and in a years time I would be going to Hogwarts." She thought of the brave woman who had died in battle what was for her seven years ago, and continued "When I received my books I read of a war that had devastated the magical world. One that is just starting now. I read of the deaths and the recruitment on both sides and I read how it ended in 1981 with the death of a husband and wife and an orphaned baby who I later met on the train. Harry Potter. My best friend." She stopped there. Seven years and saying his name out loud still tore her heart to pieces.

"Descendant of Fleamont and Euphemia?" Hector's words broke through the haze in her head.

"Yes. You knew them when you went to Hogwarts right?" She remembered going though the influential people with Hector in the future, and those were two names that were brought up. Though not nearly as political or openly influential as the Blacks, Malfoys, Longbottoms, or Bones, the Potters self made wealth and philanthropic work made them good people to know in this time, and being a potioneer and an intellectual himself, Fleamont Potter would have rubbed arms with Hector on a regular basis. According to the plan, the Potters were the next step in her integration into British society.

Hector responded with a grin. "Brilliant man, Fleamont. Could have been a Ravenclaw like me if he wasn't so brash. He was a year behind me, same with Euphemia, scary woman that, bold as brass and not afraid of anything. They were a clear love match from the moment anyone saw them." He thought for a moment, "They have a son, James I hear he's something to behold on a broom. Gets that from his mother, spitting image of her at that age. Haven't seen the boy myself in a few years, but Fleamont always brings around pictures when we have business." He cleared his throat suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, I just realized, you said orphaned. That means you never knew young James. Please go on." He motioned for her to continue, ill at ease speaking of the future death of his friend's son.

Hearing the details about her best friend's grandparents while they were still alive, shook Hermione, but she continued on. "I wont get into the details of the years, but the war started again with the rise of the Dark Lord in our fourth year. Things kept getting worse and worse, but we thought we had a chance. But we lost that when in 1998, Harry, the subject of prophecy was killed." Her throat caught again, and she took a sip of her now tepid tea to cover it. "Those of us still alive fled to regroup and were followed and ambushed. One of our own gave her life to save all of us that night. Among us we had some of the brightest minds in the country and we were able to use her death and the coincidence surrounding it to cobble together a ritual that would send one of our number back. It took seven years of blood and death and surviving to get me here. I was chosen because my blood status, combined with a loose familial connection to you, would make integrating me easier. My great-grandfather would have been your cousin, the son of your mother's brother. It made it so I could make contact and gain your trust. Just before the last phase of the ritual, you gave me your wife's ring to convince yourself to listen to me. You did this just hours before you and five of my friends slit their own throats."

Hearing the sharp intake of breath and seeing his widened eyes, she pressed on with brutal honesty knowing it was the only way to gain Hector's trust. "Sacrificial magic is a powerful and terrible thing. And at that time, for most of us just being alive was against the law, we weren't too worried about blood magic and murder if we would go back and make it so those same people could live." She closed her eyes and mentally thanked those who willingly surrendered their lives, and did the same for those that they killed without consent to fuel the ritual.

"Just what kind of ritual are you talking about? I've never heard of such a thing." He seemed to be scouring his mind looking for a lost bit of information that kept eluding him.

"You wouldn't have read about anything of the sort. It was a combination of dumb luck, coincidence, and brute intellectual effort that gave us the ability to piece the damn thing together from what we all knew. The first person to put power into it saved us from an ambush the first night after the battle. She noticed the movement and before the spellfire could reach us, she used her magic, lifeforce, and probably her very soul to protect us. She had nothing else to live for with the death of Harry. Magic is a wonderful thing; it's all down to intention. Ginny Weasley," She lowered her head in respect for her fallen friend, "willed her magic to protect the rest of us with no thought as to how it would effect her. She put her everything into that spell to save us, and it did so, and it gave us a way to save ourselves. It created kind of a pocket in space. Only those who were in it to begin with were able to pass through freely. It also killed everything apart from us. Every witch and wizard who fought for the light was untouched, but those that were hunting us, every insect, every plant and every animal within a hundred meters was destroyed including Ginny. Nothing grew there and no one but us left that circle alive ever again.

"One of the professors at Hogwarts in my time had heard of the phenomenon, and within a few weeks we had hypothesized a way to use Ginny's sacrifice as a starting point for a ritual. And in a year, we returned there to sacrifice again. We did that for five years. Dragging deatheaters we captured over the year and kept alive with the purpose of watching Ginny's magic rip them apart as we cut their throats. It was a safe but inhospitable place that circle." Hector's eyes were wide as she told her tale. Hanging onto every word she spoke

"The very air hung with life and death. You could feel it brush against your magic. Some of us who knew her well could hear Ginny laugh when we sacrificed there. I heard her cry just before I left. We worked out the arithmancy from safehouses, coding all of our work and destroying all drafts so that we could send me back thirty years. Within the first week, those of us working on the equations knew this was the farthest back we could risk sending someone. It was the pragmatic balance between how long it would take to prepare, how many we could sacrafice, and how many of us would be left to complete the final stage. We would have needed the square of time and sacrifices to send more then myself back. From the beginning it was decided I would be going back alone. I've been preparing for this since I was eighteen. Seven years I have worked to get here and to succeed, I need your help. No one deserves to live in the hell that the future holds."

She now allowed herself to make the formal request of the younger version of a man who had already willingly given his life to her cause, "Will you Hector Dagowrth-Granger, help me Hermione Granger save the world from a mad man built on destroying it?" She looked her cousin directly in the eyes as she asked for his help. She knew this was the part that the whole plan hinged on, and she knew that somehow she had to succeed.

Hector looked back at her, his expression curious, but otherwise unreadable. She was used to reading his older face, but was unused to the expressions his younger used. He leaned back in his chair and with a serious expression simply said, "Where do we start."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello my lovelies,**

 **I have spammed out four chapters so far, hopefully you keep reading even as my updates slow down. This here is a small interlude in the story, serving as a transition for Hermione's integration into Britain in the seventies. There will be a longer and unknown delay in my updates from now forward. I have another 5000 words of this story completed and edited, but I'm working my way through how to introduce a couple of characters and anything can change from here forward.**

 **I do have plans for a few flashbacks to the world Hermione had left. I'm thinking of the best way to integrate them in right now, as I have most of her timeline mapped out.**

 **I hope you're enjoying yourselves so far. And once again, please review as I would love to hear what you think or where you would like to see things go. And as an amateur writer of fiction, please let me know if there is something I'm doing in my writing that is dreadful to read, or if you notice any errors. The only way I can possibly improve is to know where to!**

 **Hugs and Kisses,**

 **zsarah.**

May 5, 1974

After two long days of hard work, back and forth floo calls to Bulgaria, and pouring over the notes Hermione brought back with her, her identity in paper and magic was set. It was with a sigh of relief that Hector leaned back in the kitchen chair across from Hermione who was looking over pamphlets from the Ministry of Education with several tomes from her beaded bag next to her for cross referencing.

"We're going into the lion's den tomorrow and we need more details." Hermione groused from her spot at the table. "I know all the hard facts I have to, but we can't slip up in our images."

Hector sent her a confused look, still getting used to the outbursts of thought that seemed to come out of nowhere when researching with Hermione. "I'm not sure what you mean, daughter?" When Hermione looked up she saw the light smirk playing around his eyes with his use of her new title. "You've been studying and training for this since you were a teenager, there's not much we can figure out in half a day before we go to Britain. What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't know how to act with you in public! I never had to worry about it and I never met you in the future before we were in hiding and the politics were pointless." Her fingers were twisted in her loose and clean hair, falling back on old habits as her frustration mounted. "Are you Daddy or Father when others can hear us? Do you have a pet name you alone call me? Do we relate as paterfamilias and scion in the eyes of others or are we relaxed on the formalities. I don't know your public face from experience, only from stories. I know you are reserved with all but your close friends, but how do you act when you encounter them in the public sphere."

Hector looked her over, and instead of answering the question observed, "You're scared now that this is started. You've prepared so long you don't know what to do now that you're actually here." His honesty cut through her worries, clearing the fog that was clouding her logic. "We'll have to keep it simple and close to the truth otherwise we could slip up. You know this. You don't seem the type for gratuitous displays of affection, nor am I."

Hermione thought back to her past life, where she doled out hugs and expressions of love and familiarity with ease. She was not that girl any longer.

"As for how we refer to each other, I've never been the 'Daddy' type, but 'Father' seems too formal." He considered further "You're a grown woman and an expert in your fields, no pet names besides 'Dear.' I would say that we should behave less formally than 'Lord and Scion' but certainly not without restraint. How we've been acting now should suffice for public interactions. Neither of us are either overly formal nor overly sentimental."

Hermione thought on this for a moment that stretched into minutes, reflecting on the interactions they had in the past two days. They had reached an easy familiarity, Hector respecting her skills and abilities, and her ceding to his greater life experience and wisdom. Somehow in the short time they had been acquainted, they had already reached a relationship bearing a resemblance to parent and grown child, very similar and yet very different from the relationship Hermione had with his elderly counterpart.

Hermione spoke on her revelations, "I think that will work out, so long as we can remember our stories. I'm not a skilled liar, though I can easily distract away from any slip ups we may make, I hope we won't have to resort to that. I don't want anyone to suspect more than they would to begin with. It will be fishy to many, the idea of you having a daughter suddenly appear out of the woodwork."

Hector's genuine reply set the rest of her worries at ease, "Not fishy at all daughter dearest, I am but an eccentric widower trying to protect the last of his family. Now that you're grown and able I cede responsibility of your life into your hands, and will support you as any good parent should." He stood from his chair and gathered some of the papers from before him, "Come, lets finish our preparations for the evening outside, we'll be away from the sun soon enough and I'm going to miss it."

Following his lead, Hermione picked up her papers on the education system of present Bulgaria and with a swish of her wand, charmed a bottle of wine and two glasses to follow them. In her mind this was the last chance she had to let her guard down for a long time.

By Merlin she was going to enjoy it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Good day my darlings!**

 **Here we are, finally getting into the story and away from the set up. From here on out my chapters will be a little bit longer. At least I hope my muse can keep this up.**

 **A couple of notes on this chapter. I am taking a few liberties with family lines and educational organization, JK didn't get into some of these nitty gritties, so I'm going to play.**

 **If you have any questions about the story please let me know, I have it all in my head and can see connections I may have forgotten to write in, or I may yet being coming to.**

 **Hope you're still reading, following and reviewing.**

 **Hugs and Kisses,**

 **zsarah.**

May 6, 1974

With a gut wrenching swirl of air and a blinding flash of light, the newly minted Hermione Dagworth-Granger and her father appeared in the British Ministry of Magic and let go of their portkey.

Having used a clever combination of charms, a small-scale sacrifice, and blood based ink to alter the family records; she was the new heir to the Dagworth-Granger lines according to the family tree. Careful use of purposeful misfiling by a close friend of Hector's at the Balkan ministry had everything in order to make her appear as the elusive heiress to a potion master and his late wife, immigrating to Britain for a change in scenery and to be closer to her Father's roots. She was the only child of both lines holding magic, so that would be enough to sort things out within the Ministry and get her citizenship transferred from Bulgaria to Britain.

In 1998, after Hector told her the story of how his wife's magic turned against her when she miscarried their first pregnancy at the age of only 24 and how she died only five years later, the elderly man confessed that he was the only one to see his wife with any regularity in those years. Her magic made it dangerous for anyone else to be around frequently, and with no close family they became rather isolated. In the years after his wife's death, Hector remained secluded, keeping in contact with only the closest of friends and colleagues. It was very possible in the eyes of society that during those years living in the Balkans they had a daughter no one knew about, and Hector himself was prideful to admit he was more than capable of training a young witch in magic better than most academies, and paranoid enough to keep that a secret. That they were both multidisciplinary expects helped their story as well, and she would have no trouble getting the required NEWTs with ease.

So on that Monday morning in the British ministry of magic, four days after arriving in the past, Hermione Granger muggleborn genius was no more. In her place stood Hermione Dagworth-Granger the home trained daughter of Hector, who was looking to transfer her citizenship to test out of her NEWTs in charms, transfiguration, creatures, runes, and arithmancy. On top of this she would also be challenging both the British Defense and Potions Guilds for her masteries in those subjects.

It was going to be a long day.

After getting her residency set up with the office of records, the Dagworth-Grangers entered the lift to ascend to the offices of the Ministry of Education. Others entered the lift as they waited for their floor and the family of two stood stoically, apart from nods of greeting they ignored everyone entering and leaving the lift. That was until a middle-aged woman with messy black curls and dark blue eyes entered. Hermione nodded passively and expected the same, but as the witch saw Hector a bright smile lit her face and she walked forward to greet him with a kiss to the side of his cheek.

"Hector!" the informal address made Hermione look at her in surprise. Her new father was not the type many greeted so informally. He was the type that demanded respect because of position, and only the few who know him closely would ever address him with his first name.

The woman pressed forward in her speech, "Why didn't you tell us you were back home, and why haven't you come by for dinner yet? If you have time for bureaucratic nonsense here, you have time for your friends." This witch spoke at a mile a minute, and from the small smirk at the corner of Hector's mouth her speech amused him, and he let her continue without interruption.

"If you are in the country, you must stay for the St. Mungos gala this Friday, Flea is giving a speech and I need someone at my table to whisper with while he panders to the crowd, and tricks them into opening their wallets for charity. Or will you be spending the evening with the lovely young witch beside you?" She seemed to say everything in a matter of moments and it took Hermione a second to register that she was being addressed with the sudden change of topic.

Hector expertly took control of the conversation at that point. "Mia, lovely to see you as always dear, but before we discuss what is sure to be a riveting speech by your husband, I would like to introduce to you my daughter Hermione." Confusion crossed the face of the woman he referred to as 'Mia,' and as if not noticing her expression he pressed forward with the introduction, in the same manner this woman had pressed forward with her questions and demands,

"Hermione, the force of nature in front of you is Euphemia Potter, a good friend from my Hogwarts days and currently, the biggest pain in the arse Minister Jenkins ever had the displeasure of angering."

Euphemia "Mia" Potter preened under the backhanded compliment her friend gave her as she continued to look at the newly born Hermione Dagworth-Granger as if she had fallen out of the sky. The two women shook hands and the gentle smile Euphemia gave her turned into a scowl as she turned back to Hector and scolded him.

"What kind of friend are you, that you never told me you and Ophelia had a daughter," She talked to him like he had done her a grievous insult,

"And in times like these, Hector!" She continued sotto voce "Why did you bring her to Britain, she was safer in Spain, or Bulgaria or wherever you had her hidden? This is not the time to bring someone you love into something they could have avoided!"

In Hermione's mind, Euphemia's tact, or lack thereof, was both irritating and refreshing, and it left her feeling slightly off balance at the way she casually spoke about the war raging underground, as if she were on the front lines.

Hector looked chastised by the comments, "We were just down in records getting her residency transferred, and now we're headed up to Madame Hopkirk to get her records of education sorted."

"I know what is going on here Mia, and I would love to talk with you more about it, but Hermione and I have an appointment to keep. Would you and Flea join us at the townhouse for dinner tonight and I'll explain everything." He was begging her silently not to have this conversation here in public, and thankfully Euphemia caught on.

"Nonsense, I will not be eating anything you have cooked. You can brew or hex your way out of any problem, but Flea and I will make sure you and your daughter don't poison yourselves. Hopefully the girl has more sense around a stove than either you or Ophelia had, but I will not be taking my chances with the unknown. You are coming to the cottage tonight, and that is that."

Hermione was torn between feeling touched at this woman's care, and indignant with her dismissal of her. She opened her mouth to say something, but Hector gently pinched the back of her arm, and she took the hint to remain quiet.

Before the silence could settle, the doors to the lift opened to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Euphemia walked out, "Hector. Hermione. We'll look for your floo at 6pm sharp. Don't make me come through and fetch you any later than that." With that parting word she walked away without waiting for a reply.

The doors closed and they were alone again. All Hermione could think was, "Did all that really just happen."

Hector let out a deep belly laugh she had never heard before, "Sweetheart, I told you she was a force of nature. She bullied Minister Jenkins into office when Nobby Leach resigned and has been at her ear ever since. She was just a little firstie when Eugenia was a prefect and she still treats her as such. It's the same way with the current head of the DMLE." He chuffed thinking of the witch fondly.

"What Mia wants Mia gets. I was a year ahead of her and in a totally different house, but when I took Flea under my wing, she came right along with him, and made sure I was worthy of spending time with her future husband. She was only thirteen at the time and I'm still just as frightened of her as I was then." He laughed again, "Brilliant she is, brilliant, but scary."

At that Hermione let out an almost hysterical laugh, remembering what Ron used to say about her. "I think I'm going to like her, even if I have yet to say a word in conversation with the witch."

His mirth rang through the lift yet again, "Just wait until you meet the man she married."

Hermione thought back to one moment of the conversation, "Why does she think neither of us could cook, your kiflichki was phenomenal."

Hector laughed even louder than before. "Sweetheart, the fact that you think that about my kiflitchki shows me exactly how good of a cook you are."

His grin grew even wider. "No one likes my kiflitchi."


	7. Chapter 7

**Good Day my lovelies,**

 **My writer's block seems to have passed and I am powering through this story. We get to meet a few more characters now, and the story is really going to get moving. Once again, if I have missed something that is vital to your understanding of the story, please let me know. I am currently writing this sitting at home with a glorious cuppa watching the snow fall outside and dreading leaving the house for work this evening.**

 **Hope you all have fabulous days, and as always, please review, I love hearing from you!**

 **xo  
** **zsarah.**

May 6, 1974

As they reached the Department of Education and stepped off the lift they seemed to enter the realm of chaos.

Memos were flying in all directions and there seemed to have been some sort of recent crisis that was in the process of being solved. As neither Hermione or Hector had spent much time in the British Ministry and no time in this department, they were at a loss as how to proceed amidst the shouts across cubicles, clamour from the interdepartmental floo and small peeps that ignored memos seemed to make if they were left to their own devices circling the heads of their targets.

A harried looking witch in vibrant azure robes somehow noticed them arriving and ushered them deeper into the disaster, "Thank Merlin at least some people know what they're doing." Her small heels clicked an added staccato to the din surrounding them, "You're right on time." She paused and studied them for a moment, her hat askew in a way that was obviously not intentional. "You are the Dagworth-Grangers, correct?" As if daring them to be anyone else; her toe continuing to keep time with its tapping against the floor.

At this point, Hector regained some sense of balance and wits as he greeted the woman playing hostess in the madhouse, "Yes madam, I am Hector and this is my daughter Hermione. We're here for her NEWT testing and then we have an appointment with the guilds following our primary purpose here." He studied the witch who seemed both accustomed to the level of bedlam, ready to throw someone or something out into the atrium at the same time.

"May I ask your name?" He was buzzed by a memo that aimed for the woman's blue caped head, and Hermione could now how the witch's hat had gotten to be in it's precarious position.

"Griselda Marchbanks, head of the department." She snatched the memo out of the air without looking, turned to Hermione, and looked at one of the three clipboards she was holding, "I decided to handle this myself since it would be a poor reflection if one of my staff had a break down while assisting you." Hermione shared an uncertain look with Hector, what could have possibly happened for there to be this kind of breakdown in a ministry department.

Madam Marchbanks glared at the several memo's now circling her and seemed to wish hell-fire on them with an increasing level of certainty. But she ignored them for the moment and went back to her clipboards.

"You have filed for testing for educational exemptions in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology and Transfiguration." She flipped what seemed to be a file on Hermione and looked closer, "Just to confirm, you are intending to file with both the Potions and Defence guilds?"

Hermione nodded assent to this and carefully considered her words as the witch before them seemed one piece of bad news away from a breakdown of violent proportions. "If you don't mind my asking madam," she asked as Madam Marchbanks snatched yet another memo out of the air, ignoring the one already in her hand, "What seems to be going on today?"

The witch took one steadying breath, as she seemed to develop a tick beneath her left eye. "Incompetence is what has happened. Hogwarts is running though Defense Professors faster than a Kneazle through trout. It's a month from OWLs and NEWTs and the presently outgoing professor just checked himself into Saint Mungo's Secure with a sudden phobia of the colour red. Any class with Gryffindors and he would go catatonic." The twitch beneath her eye spread to her upper lip. "Anyone with decent qualifications knows the job security is better as a private tutor or in one of the state academies. And though Hogwarts is an independent institution, we still have to worry about the educational standards. But enough of matters that will drive me to the bottle after this day ends." She shuffled them forwards, "Miss Dagworth-Granger, as I will be proctoring your wand courses, would you prefer to start with written or practical examination? I will give you further instruction once we are in the isolated testing chamber."

Hermione grinned like a Cheshire cat at the thought of exams. Here was an area she excelled in. After years of testing her knowledge in real life, the anxiety surrounding these things was nonexistent, replaced by confidence and a simple desire to prove her competence and move forward with the plan. After today she would be yet another step closer, and maybe she could get more information on the current going-ons at Hogwarts from the chatty witch in front of her.

"Let's start with written, get it out of the way and get onto the fun stuff." Hermione's response elicited a joyful cackle from the woman before her and a restrained chuckle from Hector.

Madam Marchbanks waved away her father and lead Hermione down a hallway towards the room they would use, "Come along, we'll get those pesky papers out of the way and I can call in our other proctors to get you on your way to stir up the guilds. You're going to be a fun one, I can tell."

* * *

After two and a half hours of written examination and a further two of practical observation under no less than three different proctors apart from Madam Marchbanks, Hermione was exhausted, hungry, and utterly and joyfully satisfied.

Due to Griselda ' _Enough with the Madam business'_ Marchbank's desire to delay returning to the insanity that seemed to be her day-to-day job, her exams were marked on the spot. Hermione exited the testing room and searched amongst the still distressed looking staff for her father.

She found him chatting amicably with what could only be described as a short human boulder.

Her father caught her eye as she approached and seeing her happy grin, one stretched across his face in return as he waved her over. The man he was speaking with turned and Hermione instantly recognized a younger and wider Horace Slughorn.

As she approached them, she studied the man who in her time had sacrificed himself to cover their escape from the school. He was no spring chicken these days and had been an old man when the final battle took place.

Though he did not look or act it, Horace Slughorn was a powerhouse of magical potential. His magic was built like a siege engine, and though his personal preference was potions, he was not soft on his wand work.

Despite his previous cowardice in the face of Tom Riddle, he brought half of Hogwart's battlements down on top of himself rather than let anyone take him alive. From the scattered intelligence they gathered in the months following, he killed over three score of the Dark Lord's followers both directly and indirectly with that single final strike.

Hermione had a deep respect for the man whose only sins were teaching his students what they wanted to learn, and being caught in the guile of Tom Riddle as so many were. This was one of the people who made it possible for her to be here today, and though he would never know it, Horace Slughorn helped save the world.

Hector reached out and settled his hand on her arm, "How did it go?" Hermione saw he was deliberately ignoring Professor Slughorn, who seemed to be bouncing on the balls of his feet, wanting to sink his teeth into new gossip and potential allies.

"I did it! Outstanding in everything but Arithmancy; my theory was a little shaky there, but I passed everything and have clearance to challenge the guilds." At this announcement, the Professor couldn't hold it in any longer, and he turned towards Hector with a genuine grin.

"Hector my dear friend, who is this charming and intelligent young woman, and why haven't I had the pleasure of having her as my student." Slughorn's charm and ambition were put on thick and they made her remember why her initial impression of him had been poor, perhaps coming to him on a near equal ground would render some of that moot.

Hector turned and began the introductions, allowing some informality in a way only someone assured of their own status could, "Master Horace Slughorn may I introduce my daughter and heir, the soon to be Master Hermione Dagworth-Granger. We've come back to the motherland so that she can pursue her potions mastery away from her old man, and seek her own fortune in the field of Defense."

Hermione felt like kicking her father after an introduction like that, but she held her composure and gave a formal bow to Professor Slughorn; the way a male heir would greet someone of great importance. She refused to play Lady in circumstances like this, and let her annoyance show in the look she shot her father.

Instead of being shocked and appalled like many of the old circles would, Horace gave the same formal bow back, and let out a great laugh, his moustache and belly moving like they were synchronized in some sort of ghastly duet along with his amusement. "You my dear have the same fire and spunk as your father! What a pleasure it was to teach him! I must have done something right in his early days if he was able to pass the love of the art on to you."

"Or you did something so wrong that I have raised a daughter as clever as a Ravenclaw, and as ambitious as a Slytherin." Hector was deliberately needling her knowing that she had been in neither of those houses.

She jumped in, "Perhaps you raised a daughter brave enough to challenge two guilds at once, and loyal enough for one of those to be her father's. Are you worried I will surpass you?"

"On the contrary my dear, I hope you best both myself and my old master here. I can see you pushing forward in ways no other has." His smooth and gracious response caught her off guard, and though she could see him politicking Horace with that comment, her heart swelled with affection for that man she had only truly met days ago.

Hector turned to Slughorn, "I am afraid we must get going to meet with the guilds, I am sponsoring her in Potions, but she has to stand on her own for Defense, I have no idea what the guild will ask of her for that, but it is sure to give me a heart attack."

"Allow me to join you, and perhaps we can lunch together afterwards. I must get caught up on what has been happening offshores." Slughorn said as he walked with them in the direction of the guild offices, "I trust your judgment Hector, but a second unrelated name wouldn't go amiss, especially with me being your old sponsor. They do love legacies, but the guilds frown on nepotism."

Hermione frowned at this. Her father was a man of honor and treated his work with an almost religious devotion. He would never lower himself or his art with someone unworthy of sharing his title. She stopped walking and both men turned to look at her. "Father would never sink so low. There is no nepotism in his sponsoring of me. I am worthy of this in my own right, he is my sponsor as he is the one who trained me, nothing more."

Slughorn's chuckled and waved her to keep moving lest they block the less crowded, but still hectic hallway leading them to their destination, "There's that spunk again. Don't let anybody take that from you, keep it alive and keep it burning. If you are successful and competent enough you can get away with whatever you please." He gestured again, and she stepped quickly to keep pace with the two men in front of her.

Slughorn kept chuckling quietly to himself muttering about spunk and stuffy old codgers, as they approached their set meeting with the guild masters.

* * *

They walked out of the meeting after two more foodless hours in shock.

"I can't believe they just handed me a potions mastery." Hermione was breathless with the awe of how simply that had come about.

Only a quarter of their time in the chamber was spent questioning her in her potions knowledge, almost half of that was waiting for the whispers of the assembled guild to quiet down after seeing a threefold legacy walk in together.

The rest of the time was spent with the masters arguing over the best way to test someone's all around mastery of Defence when they didn't have any formal marks to work with, and when the applicant was standing without a sponsor.

In the end they came to a decision that Hermione was comfortable and confident with, but was giving her father heart palpitations thinking about.

"I can't believe they're sending my daughter on the dueling circuit."


	8. Chapter 8

**Good day my lovelies,**

 **This chapter ran away from me a little bit. I had a little bit of writer's block but after a month of writing my own personal one shots I think I've found my muse again.**

 **So here is the longest Chapter I have written for this story to date.**

 **As always reviews are always welcome, as are questions about where the story is going. This is my first multi-chapter story so I always hope I don't forget anything important that I have worked out in my head but I forget to put on paper.**

 **Hugs and Kisses,**

 **zsarah.**

May 6, 1974

After a light lunch at the Leaky Cauldron with Professor Slughorn, Hermione and Hector returned to the Dagworth townhouse to refresh before dinner with the Potter's. The townhouse was a grand building in Knightsbridge that had been the seat of the Dagworth's before they merged with the the Grangers in the 18th century. As the city grew up around the estate, it was updated alongside of the muggle buildings until it was in its present, downsized yet still regal condition. It was the only English property that Hector kept after he liquidated his estate, and after getting used to the grandiose nature of the place, Hermione was growing very fond of it.

They stepped through the large gilt fireplace in the foyer one after each other, removed their footwear, and headed for the parlour that Hermione favoured. The room was done up in dark woods and rich golden furniture. It radiated a similar sense of warmth and familiarity Hermione remembered feeling in the Gryffindor common room. But where the school room had an air of shabby comfort after generations of students, the upkeep in this room was pristine. The soft silk rug cushioned her feet and everytime she walked across it she itched to remove her stockings and bury her toes within the soft fibers. The couch she sat on had an air of relaxed formality, meant for tea and lounging with pleasant company.

Hermione summoned a tea-set from the kitchen down the hall as she removed her outer robes. They were probably the finest and most expensive thing she had ever worn in her life and she took the time to examine them closely at every opportunity she was given. They were a gift from Hector that he had presented her with before before leaving Spain. The fine black wool was soft under her fingers and when she wore them, they draped elegantly over her shoulders fell open to her fingertips and ankles. The embroidery along the hems was done in gold and jewel tones depicting a floral array that almost matched the magic sustained rooftop gardens of the London estate. This embroidery hid the runic designs that were sewn in with enchanted linen thread. These runes provided the garment with subtle enhancements that increased comfort and durability, protected from stain as well as allowed a limited protection from social jinxes.

She laid the robes across her lap, ran her fingers over the embroidery, and felt the magic as it flowed in eddies beneath her fingertips. The wool tried to slide off the silk of the sleeveless paneled jumpsuit she wore and she tucked it underneath herself as a blanket. Between the fire that Hector had just lit and the tea that would soon arrive, she was sure that it would be enough to ward off the chills she was still prone to getting.

She reached behind her neck and untied the leather thong that held the amulet hidden against her breastbone. As the large carved bloodstone was separated from her skin, her true appearance faded to view. The scars on her face and forearms, her still thin frame and the dull quality of her hair. The remnants of seven hard years would fade with time and care, but for the time being, the stone amulet would show her in a naturally unblemished state. The artifact was one of several priceless artifacts that her ancestors had in collection, and powerful sumerian runes were enough to hide even her curse scars. She hoped to be able to replicate it's magic permanently with time and study, as the making of such things was lost to time. But as useful as the amulet was, the nature of the stone brought her magic into a state that she could only compare to unreleased static electricity. It wasn't harmful, but if she didn't take the amulet off periodically, the buildup of magic left her feeling distracted and on edge.

As the tea set arrived and they set about preparing their cups, Hermione felt Hector's eyes on her. As she looked at him she watched as he purposefully avoided looking at her scars. She couldn't help comparing him to his counterpart in the future. This man was so much softer than the version she had known. Yes he was jaded, with a dark sense of humour, but he still held onto his willingness to open up and love. She felt a sense of panic well up inside her, and though she could recognise her own anxiety, she still felt an immediate fear that that she would mess up and the man she had come to love like a father in two timelines would lose another person.

She shoved the feeling down and reminded herself of her plan. It was the only way to get through the panic. She repeated the words inside her head. They had become a mantra to her over the course of her seven years of planning and even now, safe in the past they soothed her. _Identity, Information, Integration. Identity, Information, Integration._ She was Hermione Dagworth-Granger. Her plan was one third complete. Tonight she would begin working on the second and third parts.

The each doctored their tea in an expectant silence. After Hector took his first sip, he broke the quiet, "I know you didn't want to get into it with Horace there, but how do you feel about your Defense trial playing out on the dueling circuit?" She could see the worry in his eyes. This man was born to care, and it was tragic that he hadn't had the opportunity to be a father until now. Unfortunately his efforts to protect would be wasted on her.

Hermione set her own cup down and tucked her feet up underneath her, "I'm not too worried about it. Maintaining a qualifying average at the regional level won't be too difficult. I know my skill and in terms of magical ability and output, I am up to at least national standards. What I'm worried about are the formalities and the protocol. I've never done sport dueling outside of spotty classroom experience and that was years ago. If I want to keep my average for the two months they're asking for, and do it in time to get my application in at Hogwarts, I don't have a lot of time to make mistakes and have matches disqualified. I know I know the basics, but the plan is to enter as soon as the qualifiers open on Thursday." She summoned her cup of tea back to her hands in favour of not disturbing her comfortable position, "That gives me a couple of days to prepare and refresh myself on the etiquette. It will be tight, but it shouldn't be a problem."

Hector sat forward in his chair, his own mug clutched between his hands, "Maybe if we talk to Fleamont tonight, he'll be able to point you in the right direction. If I remember correctly, he picked up a habit of tracking the circuit from his father. We might be able to pick his brains about any new developments."

The Hermione's anxiety rose again as she actively thought about the upcoming dinner that evening. "Tell me about the Potters, I have my notes from the future you, but they were long dead…" She trailed off, uncomfortable both speaking of the future, and not knowing if there was anything to be done for the Potters who were scheduled to die within 10 years.

Hector ignored her discomfort and began speaking of his friends, "Fleamont holds several patents in potions, the man never did gain his mastery and the guilds are continually after him for it. He's a good wand to have at your side, level headed but quite excentric. He's fallen into philanthropy in the past couple of years, and Euphemia encourages it. She's always been one to stir the pot." He chuckled to himself, "When Fleamont's cousin Charlus married one of the Black girls, Mia got into it with Irma Black herself at the wedding. That was 20 years ago and they still put hand to wand when they pass in the street. Apparently it's a regular society nightmare to plan any event so that Walburga Black and Euphemia Potter don't cross paths." He finished his tea in two large gulps and stared in on the biscuits next to the pot.

"You'll get to see some of this unfold at the gala on Friday." Hector's words caught her off guard.

Hermione hesitated before replying, "I'm not sure I'll be up for a society event the day after debuting the circuit, and I'm sure they'll put me in a few matches Friday morning just because I'm a new face with an old name." There really was no part of her that really wanted to go to the party, the last social event she had been to was Bill and Fleur's wedding almost 8 years in her past, and that occasion was seared into her mind as the beginning of the end of her world.

"But think of the networking you can do there." Hector's reasoning broke through the stubbornness and fear that was clouding her logic. "The big movers and shakers, the elite and the powerful, they are the ones who will be there and many of them attend the debut matches of new duelers. If you're half as good and you think you are, you'll have no problems making the right connections you need. Especially if you end goal is a professorship."

Hector pressed on without letting her cut in, "As much as you might wish your application will be based off of your skill set, Dumbledore is as much a politician as he is a school teacher. He'll appreciate solid references. Keeping Horace close, and getting to know Fleamont would be handy; as much as it pains me to let you manipulate my friends and colleagues. You'll also do well to get to know some of those on the darker side of the political spectrum. The Greengrass's have a vested interest in dueling as they own the monopoly in Hebridean leather, they are generally politically neutral but Madame Greengrass is definitely a traditionalist."

Hermione remained quiet, thinking about the two Greengrass girls she attended Hogwarts with, but she was distracted as Hector continued talking about potential allies, "Selwyns of the main line are good associates to keep, though they do keep their primary loyalty family, and you want to watch out for their cadet branches. I also know that if you can get in with Charlus' wife Dorea, she is as neutral as they come, and she could get you an audience with anyone in Britain and most of the mainland. It's the only reason her family still associates with her, she has friends on all sides of the spectrum, and they can't do to alienate her connections."

Hermione could feel the blood drain from her face, at the thought of more politicking, especially with those that she had been fighting against 30 years in the future. But she hid her fears behind her rationality and decided to deal with those emotions later.

"Hermione," Hector's voice came through her occlumency barriers and her vision came back into focus. "Don't block this out. You'll have to deal with it eventually. Not now, but later. I am fully committed to this and you have my full support. I know that this is everything you planned for, but you are not a politician." His darker brown eyes were staring straight into hers with an earnestness that left her feeling drained. "Let me help you. I'm here for you and even if you don't believe it yet, you are my true daughter and it is my job and my joy to be there for you. It became true the moment we wrote your name into the records. Its sealed in magic and will."

Hermione's attention was brought to bear directly on the words he used, and as her brain caught up with the conversation she couldn't help the small gasp that came out. Hector was still talking, pressing forward through her shock.

"This isn't just a second chance for you. I thought I had lost my opportunity for happiness and family when Ophelia died. I thought that our line would end with me. It saddened me, but I was at peace with that. Then I opened the door to you and all of a sudden, our family magic has hope again. I knew it as soon as I saw you."

Hermione continued to gape at what this meant. To be sealed into the family by magic and will made her Hector's sole and undisputed heir. He had chosen her to carry on his legacy after only knowing her for a matter of days. It was a breathtaking honor and responsibility that further confirmed in her heart that she had done the right thing in coming to the past.

"Of course, after you save the world from certain destruction we will of course be going over the family assets and responsibilities. It is your choice from now on the legacy you wish to leave for the family and I think that you have already had a brilliant start." Hector's eyes were bright as he poured out his faith in her. Hermione felt her own tears begin to form and by pure strength of will pushed them back for another time.

She felt the need to express her gratitude, but for one of the few times in her life, her words failed her. She forced what she could past the lump in her throat, "You honor me." She paused and then made up her mind to just let out what she wanted to say. "I am so grateful that it is you who by blind chance was my family. I am so glad that I have the privilege of having you as my father."

She expected when coming to the past that if her plans fell into place she would eventually believe the lie that Hector was her father. But she didn't expect it to so quickly become the truth, and to become a truth she would embrace unabashedly. She knew in her mind that it was partially the family magics bringing her tighter into themselves, accepting her as one of their own, but it was of little consequence how this had come to pass. It just simply was.

As they sat once again in silence, this one of this one of comfort and understanding, the grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed the hour. With the tea finished and an a dinner prepare for, they both got up from their respective seats, and as Hermione gathered her robe and amulet, Hector closed the gap between them and put an affectionate hand on her shoulder. That she didn't flinch away from that hand said more about her trust in the man before her than anything else.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello my lovelies,**

 **I just want to thank everyone who took the time to review the last chapter. It is wonderful to hear feedback and encouragement from you all. I also noticed that readership spiked after breaking the 10,000 word mark in the last chapter. I guess I'm not the only one who likes to take advantage of the filtering options when finding stories to read.**

 **When I started editing, this chapter was only sitting at about 1500 words. I was worried I was slipping back into short chapters. But once I got everything worked out, my word count was once again up. A lot is happening on May 6, 1974 but hopefully we'll get moving forward again soon.**

 **Anyway, I just want to once again thank everyone who has taken an interest in this. Knowing there are people out there actually reading and waiting for the next chapter has given me the boost I needed to get this one out to you so quickly.**

 **Now we are finally getting to see the Potters on their own turf. Should be fun!**

 **Hugs and Kisses,**

 **zsarah.**

 **.**

 **May 6, 1974**

As Hermione entered her suite of rooms, she took a moment to look the area over with awe. She had taken the time to do so every time she had walked through the doors in the past two days, and it still baffled her that this was where she now lived.

The floor was done in silvery marble and had been covered in silks and wools that were scavenged from around the house. The fabric and rugs helped to keep the heat in and cushioned her still fragile feet from the hard floor. The marble extended up one wall into a large private fireplace with two plush armchairs in front of it. The wooden paneling on the surrounding walls was a deep ebony that she had changed from the original teak her first night in her new home. It was a complicated piece of alchemical transfiguration, but in a moment of selfishness she decided that she would take advantage of her ability to make this place her own.

On the opposite side of the room from the fireplace she had large hardwood desk that had previously been in the master study. Hector had little need for such an item and without asking, immediately brought it to her suite. The top was already scattered with paperwork and plans and Hermione was looking forward to getting many years of good use out of the sturdy and ageless piece. On either side the desk were a pair shelves stuffed to the brim with the books she had scavenged from the future and tucked away in her handbag. She was planning on using what little free time she had to ward any time-sensitive information from the books to the extent that they could be brought out of the safety of her room.

Then there was her favorite feature of the room; tucked behind a folding screen was the large feather bed, piled high with blankets and pillows. She hadn't realized how much she had missed the creature comforts of a down duvet until the night previous when she had woke up from a nightmare, cocooned in warmth and comfort. It was the first time in years she could remember feeling safe enough to fall back asleep after waking up.

The deep teal sheets and the gold throw on top beckoned her to bury herself in the covers and never come out, but instead, she entered the private bath and turned the shower on as hot as she knew she could handle. As the hot water warmed the air, Hermione took her time disrobing, knowing she had the time to spare. She turned towards the slowly fogging mirror and examined herself critically for the first time in years.

Time had not been easy on her, and a couple of days of properly prepared potions and rest could only do so much. She certainly looked better than she had in years, but the shadows under her eyes, her lank frame, and her sore bones would take months and continuous care to heal. In the unnatural light, her scars stood out in stark relief against pallid skin.

Some of her wounds would fade with time, but some she would carry for the rest of her life. The fully healed silvery slash across her chest courtesy of Dolhov when she was 16 was as faded as it would ever be, but she hoped that she would be able to diminish the ropy purple slur that marred her forearm from when she had the pleasure of being Bellatrix's guest of honor. The other differing marks of curses she had been unable to block during skirmish she spared few thoughts for, but the lash marks across her shoulders, back, and thighs she wanted gone. They were from a time she had locked away from even her own memory, and looking at them made her want to scrub them from her skin.

She forced those thoughts even further away as she traced the small marks on her the back of her hands and face, simple proof of hard living when one went through long periods of time without the ability to magic the wounds away. These small blemishes would disappear easily enough with proper care. She turned her hands over and ran her thumbs across the deep gouges in both palms. The marks still made her feel slightly nauseous to look at as they were proof what she had done to get here today. They were common enough scars for those who worked ritual magic, and were inconsequential to anyone apart from her. But the memories that went with those scars would sicken even the strongest of souls.

She knew she would eventually have to process the crimes she had both been subjected to and forced by circumstance to commit, but for now she tucked those memories back to ever growing stash of darkness in her mind. Taking a deep breath and letting the thoughts fade out of her consciousness she stepped into the scalding waters to wash some of the stress of the day away.

It was still a novel experience to be able to feel her hair slick through her hands, the conditioning potions slowly reversing the damage that 8 years of poor diet and habit had wrought. She felt the simple joy of being able to wash without removing bits of other humans from her body, without feeling the sting of homemade lye burning in fresh injuries. Knowing that there were rune charged towels waiting for her, warm and clean, when she was finished. She could already feel a bit of softness growing around her ribs and hips, the nutrient potions working their magic in bringing her body away from stringy muscle and bone. She would have to begin exercising if she wanted the weight the potions were helping her put on to be positive.

Turning the water off and wrapping herself up in the fluffy white towels, she used several drops of Sleekeasy to smooth her curls. The labeling on the vial was different from the future, but it still worked the same as it did when she was 15. She used a quick charm to dry her hair, and though it was slightly lackluster and thinner than it had been in her youth, the slightly out of control curls still appealed to her vanity. She decided against makeup apart from a light rouge on her lips, feeling more than a little distaste about the trends of the time.

Looking through her wardrobe she was glad that Hector had not gotten rid of any of his late-wife's clothes, choosing instead to box them up and store them in the attic. He had told Hermione that he had always thought he would get around to going through them someday, and had simply been putting it off. They had sorted through a few of the trunks in the attic and while Hector told her stories about the woman who was supposed to be her mother, they found a number of suitable robe sets.

Thankful that wizarding fashion changed so little over the years, she fished her beaded handbag out of the expanded pocked of the over-robe she had worn earlier in the day, and hung the beautiful piece of clothing up in her still mostly empty wardrobe. She picked out a voluminous set of robes in a deep mauve, with molded brass clasps. Though a little dated, the colour flattered her and the heavy fabric would both keep her warm and conceal the knives and spare wands she rarely went anywhere without. Going into the ministry without her usual arsenal at the ready had been off-putting, but Hector had insisted that the risks of getting caught were greater than the risk of her needing a weapon.

But she refused to go onto the home-turf of another witch or wizard and not be prepared. Her bag was tied underneath a fold of fabric in her skirt and a jinx placed on her robes to prevent removal, and a charm to conceal it. One blade was placed at the small of her back, and a second up her right sleeve. Next to that was the oak wand that used to belong to Luna Lovegood. Her vinewood wand, stolen back in one of the most successful raids of her time was placed up her left. She tucked her amulet under the high neck of her robes and felt the magic trickle down her veins. Her feet went into a pair of soft leather house-shoes shrunk to fit her.

Watching the clock on the mantle tick closer to 6, she tied her hair up in lighter lilac scarf and pinned it with a brooch, also scavenged from the trunks in the attic. She was the image of a proper lady of society, elegantly and effortlessly dressed. Though her first experience as such in the wizarding community, she had practice with this in the muggle world. Being the daughter of wealthy and accomplished professionals, she knew her mother would roll over in the grave if she let herself appear nouveau riche. Before she could second guess herself she headed downstairs to meet her father.

Hector was waiting for her in the entry hall, dressed in a casual smoking jacket more suited to the previous century and had the on same style of soft soled leather shoes as she had put on before coming down. As she was getting ready to sit down on the entry bench to wait out the remaining minutes on the clock, he bustled her toward the floo.

"Hurry, Hurry! We're going to be late." Hermione herself, religiously punctual looked at the clock.

"We still have 15 minutes, we're going to be…" Her words petered off as she was unceremoniously shoved into the already green flames and as the spinning stopped she stepped out into a cozy parlour "...early." Her eyes did a brief scan of the room and she noticed the couple sitting on a couch just out of direct eye-line. It took most of a second to resist the urge to pull her wand, and another second for her to move out of the way just in time for Hector to step out of the fireplace behind her.

Euphemia Potter rose from where her and her husband had been sitting, "Hector, darling! Cutting it a little bit close, I was worried I would have to come through and fetch you myself." Hermione suddenly understood that the threat made to her father in the elevator was not just in jest, and that this woman before them would have come through and dragged them home with her.

Hector jumped at her voice and then grinned at his old friend. "As if I would have given you the satisfaction." She waved off his comment as she greeted Hermione with a light hug and a quick peck to the cheek, "By the time I had gotten you out of that drafty old house dinner would have been cold and I would have had a cranky husband to deal with." She winked at the man still sitting behind her

Hector let out a deep belly laugh and grabbed Euphemia up in a much less delicate hug. It was clear to see the love that was between these people and Hermione was glad to give him an excuse to spend more time with them. She watched as he walked over to Fleamont and the man rose to greet him in the same manner. "It's good to see you again! It's been far too long."

Fleamont Potter was not what Hermione had expected. She knew that Harry had been the spitting image of his father, but she was not expecting to see the same amount of similarities in his grandfather. Fleamont had the same dark hair as Euphemia, and while his was thinning slicked back, she could see a few stubborn Potter hairs breaking free of even the magic of Sleakeasys. He had a small pair of wire rimmed spectacles perched on the end of a thin nose and Hermione got the distinct impression of a quiet man who spent a lot of time humouring his much more boisterous wife.

Fleamont, after disengaging with Hector approached her. He was her father's equal in height, standing almost a full head taller than her. But whereas Hector was a burly man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, Fleamont was slender, still built like a teenage boy without the paunch most men his age developed.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss. Dagworth-Granger. My wife tells me that you are the well kept secret that brought Hector back the the Isles." His voice was that of a persuasive orator, gentle and easily carried the short distance between them. He took one of her hands in his and used his other arm to draw her into a soft and friendly hug.

She felt a lump grow in her throat. This man's gentleness and soft voice reminded her so much of his future grandson. It had been years since she had watched Harry die, but it was one of those things that she knew she would never forget. She breathed deep and found he even smelled like Harry. She forced tears back into her eyes wondering how she had grown so fragile in her short time in the past.

"Hermione," her voice cracked and she covered it with a cough as she pulled away from Fleamont's embrace. She put a weak smile on her face, "Please call me Hermione. You are some of father's closest friends and I'm looking forward to getting to know you both better." She had a role to play here, and these people did not need to know her weakness, or how their son and their grandson would both be killed by a madman hellbent on immortality and domination.

She heard a harrumph from Euphemia, and Hermione saw her glaring at Hector. "Some friends we are if this is the first time we're meeting your daughter." She looped her arm with Hermione's in such a way that she had no choice but to follow where the other woman lead. "I don't blame you Hermione, darling. Its your father I have a bone to pick with." Her sapphire blue eyes were kind, but Hermione could see that she was genuinely hurt in her belief that Hector had hidden his daughter from her. "Come, we'll discuss it over the lamb."

And with that, Hermione went from being pushed into a floo by her anxious father to being dragged bodily into a dining room by an angry woman she had just met that day.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello my lovelies!**

 **So my muse is alive and well for this story. But things just kind of ran away from me and now at least one character is going in an entirely different direction than I had initially planned. We're still on track for the true destination of the story, but I have altered my plans for some of the characters.**

 **I also got sidetracked writing parts of this story that comes in later down the road. I find the mechanics of magical theory to be a fun exercise to write, and I have some pretty interesting ideas in store for the future. This was another chapter that I was worried would be short, but when it got fleshed out it is my longest chapter on this story to date.**

 **Big thanks again to everyone who follows and reviews. It might take me a bit to get the next chapter after this one out, because... I am moving into a gorgeous new apartment soon! So much space, a real garden, clawfoot tub… I think I'm bragging. I feel as though I may have rushed this one and not edited it as strictly as I have some of my others. Please let me know if you catch any big errors!**

 **Xo**

 **zsarah**.

 **May 6, 1974**

Compared to the thin rations she had been living on for years, the spread Euphemia had placed out for them was probably one of the richest meals she could remember eating. The lamb was tender and almost melted in her mouth. The roast potatoes were spiced and seasoned in a way that made her linger over each bite. And the vegetables were fresh, green, and something of a novelty to her. She ate slowly, both to savour the tastes, and to avoid making herself ill off of food she wasn't used to. She hadn't been starving by any means, but years of irregular canned, cured, and dry food would shrink anyone's stomach.

The company was pleasant, but there was a lingering tension that she could not quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was something in the way Fleamont and Euphemia shared a look whenever she spoke, or perhaps it was the way her father's right eye twitched slightly whenever Euphemia asked a question. It might have been the way she had to pause before every answer to remember the story she had crafted. But whatever was in the air was subtle enough that, though she was made wary, it did not raise any serious alarm bells.

Euphemia raised her wine glass and took a delicate sip of the complex Bordeaux that may be Hermione's favorite feature of the evening, and looked at her over the glass. Her blue eyes shifted from the neutral and welcoming expression she had worn all evening to flinty and cunning as she glanced between the present company. The change took Hermione off guard and she could do nothing but watch as her host waited until Hector had taken a large bite of lamb to ask the most pointed question of the evening.

"Hector dear." She started without taking her eyes off Hermione, "Do you take us for complete fools." Her hand was steady as she set the glass down. "We're not complete idiots. We are well aware that Hermione is not truly your daughter."

Hermione's spine went ramrod straight, and the wine she had just sipped went down her windpipe with an unpleasant choking sound. After a panicked gasp and short bout of coughing, she was able to breathe again. Once she was sure she would continue to be able to do so, she stared at the woman across from her. Before she could even think of a rebuttal or deny anything, and before Hector was even able to swallow his mouthful of food, Euphemia started speaking again.

"Don't even try to deny it, Hector," her eyes were still locked on Hermione's. "I know you, but I also know magic. It's the only reason I didn't hex you six ways from Sunday in that elevator. It's the only reason I let you both into our home. There may bonds of love between you and this woman, and you're a hair's breadth away from believing the lies you're telling." She broke contact to look between them. "But what you have with her is new. Fresh. What I see are not the bonds you see between a man and the daughter he has loved and raised for years, but the bonds you experience when you hold a newborn for the first time. There is love and hope there, but also fear and uncertainty."

As Hector opened his mouth with what Hermione could only assume was a denial of what he had been accused of, Euphemia cut him off with a harsh gesture, "Don't you dare lie to us. Not to us. We know we are the ones who would be the godparents of any child of yours. It is that fact alone that me you are a liar, Hector."

The feeling of tension had snapped and Hermione's mind was whirling over everything she had just been accused of. The words echoing around in her head; _Bonds of love, Lies you're telling, New, Fresh, A newborn, Love, Hope, Fear, Uncertainty_... _Bonds of love, fresh, bonds, Not the bonds you see, Family, Bonds._ Bonds!

If Hermione could have been sitting up any straighter she would have. Euphemia's accusations were forgotten in light of a new train of thought. And though she could see the feelings of hurt and betrayal circling the table, those thoughts were passed aside.

"You can see bonds?" The words were quiet and breathy out of her lips, the thoughts still swirling through her mind.

The only other person she knew who had a gift like that had been Luna, and the odds of meeting two people who had such a talent were staggering. The only family that had manifestations of this variation of the sight in generations were the Lovegoods, and that it was also found in Harry's family history was mind boggling. It was a rare ability that was coveted by many, ran in families, and was only shown in the most powerful of witches and wizards. It was the type of secret so well kept that her closest friend only told her of the ability days before she left for the past, and even then it was a secret that Luna would be taking to the grave. She needed to know if Euphemia was capable of the same things as her lost friend. "What about auras?" Her fears of discovery were forgotten she sat forward in her chair.

She didn't even glance at Hector when he cleared his throat, obviously trying to dissuade her from the line of questioning. "Stop it," Her words were imperative as she waved off her father. "This is important. Can you see auras as well?" If her line of thought was correct then the things Luna had told her about her gift and what to expect in the past would suddenly make much more sense than was reasonable coming from the blonde. A good friend, a bright scholar and a dedicated warrior were all characteristics of her lost friend. But straightforward and easily understood would never describe Luna.

Euphemia sat back in her seat. "Seeing auras? That's a rare gift." she said avoiding the question. "Why would someone hide that kind of ability?"

"Because everyone who has the gift does so. You of all people would know it would make you a target, especially in times like this." Pieces were falling more and more into place. "I need to know; can you read auras? Truly read someone's magic, see its intent." She felt like a fervent devotee praying to every god she didn't believe in that her hunch was right.

Looking between Euphemia and Fleamont, she knew she would get no answers from the Potter's without giving something in return. She steeled herself she reached inside the sheath on her wrist and sliced the tip of her finger. She absently wondered how such a small cut could hurt as much as some of the serious curses she had taken. She knew it had to do with how nerves responded differently to superficial and catastrophic injuries, and how preparation for pain only made one more aware of it. She cleared those irrelevant thoughts from her mind and let a drop of blood fall onto the table in front of her, the meal forgotten.

Her hands moved to the wand handles strapped to both forearms, "On my magic this I vow." She could see how her actions and the formal words caught everyone at the table off guard and as she heard a quiet gasp from her father she continued, "As Hermione Jean Dagworth-Granger I do so swear." She felt the magic take hold of her as she spoke her name, "I vow to do no harm to the family Potter. I vow to hold their secrets in magic as my own. I vow to honor this as a bond of faith and love to the Potter family. I do so swear by name and magic. So mote it be."

Everyone's eyes were on her as she slowly pulled her vinewood wand from its ties and whispered her desired incantation, thinking of her purpose and feeling hope bubble within her as she did so. " _Expecto Patronum"_ Her hope faded slightly and her resolve grew as the silvery otter dove around the room.

As she felt her energy trickling into the familiar spell she thought about how she missed the playful river otter she had first learned how to cast. The new creature had been her companion now for years and though its was still distinctly an otter, it was now much larger than before, with a longer skull and sleeker fur. _Pteronura brasiliensis,_ the giant amazonian otter. Predator of anaconda, piranha, and crocodile. The most aggressive of all _Luntinae,_ but also the most social. She wasn't sure what that said about how she had changed from the girl she used to be to the woman she now was, but she was sure it would be an interesting study.

Shaking off her self-reflection and ending her spell she noticed that her hands were shaking. The patronus charm always did give her trouble and even now it took more strength than it should to cast it even in a controlled environment. Fleamont and Euphemia were both looking at her with a trust and respect that she hadn't even realized was absent before.

"Please, I need to know." Hermione recognized that she was begging, in this there was no room for pride. "I need you to tell me. Do you see bonds and auras?"

"Yes," the response from Euphemia was without hesitation. She held her hand up to stop her husband before he even opened his mouth, "I trust her, Flea. To make a vow like that shows that we mean more to her than we are aware of."

She turned back to Hermione, "It's a frightening gift, but it's how I can see that you were already bound to our family, before meeting us. Before you made that vow though, your bonds weren't directed, and they weren't made by proxy through Hector. It was like you were bound to the idea of our family, or the future of our family. It's an old bond. The vow renewed it and directed it, but your bond to us is strong and matured" There was a crinkle in her brow as her eyes seemed seemed to look past Hermione, "How could you have a previous bond? How is your magic tying you so tightly to the future of our family?" Hermione's decision was made almost instantly at those words.

She looked her father in the eye and stowed her wand, and as he mouthed a question at her, _What are you doing?_ She inclined her head in reply and met the eyes of Euphemia across the table. "I'm going to tell them the truth." She undid the neck clasp of her robes and pulled the bloodstone amulet over her head. As her appearance faded into view, she heard Fleamont take a sharp inhale.

She was glad most of her scars were hidden under her robes and that only her face and hands were visible. But she supposed that the small scars must be even more shocking to those who could magic small wounds away as easily as cleaning a chalkboard. The small white marks traced down one cheek from the time she had failed to turn her face away from flying debris, and the small pink blemish under her mouth marked the time she bit through her lip. The back of her right hand, resting on the table had the same white scars as her cheek, and raw looking pink scars from the multiple times she had split her knuckles.

She figured that if she was going to tell the truth, she might as well bare her soul. So she rolled her tighter black undersleeves up along with the billowy mauve ones to display the pale double banded manacle scars on her wrists. She saw Hector eye the word on her forearm with a mix of emotions and watched horror grow on the Potter's faces as they read it. _MUDBLOOD._ It started in bold letters in the crook of her elbow and trailed unevenly down until the _Os_ intersected with the newer manacle scars and the _D_ infringed on the base of her palm. It was a word she had heard with regularity by the time she was a teenager, but only realized the true vulgarity of it in adulthood.

She traced the letters as she thought about how to tell her story. "As you can see, I wasn't born a Dagworth-Granger. I was born to muggle dentists in Crowley. They were good parents and raised me as well as any two well adjusted people can raise a child they didn't understand. They always treated me with love and acceptance and when I was eleven and they were told I was a witch, they continued to do so. They were my parents for 18 years of my life. Then I took their memories from them and sent them away to live a new life in a new country rather than watch them die for the crime of being the parents of Britain's most wanted witch."

Hermione continued speaking ignoring the looks of confusion and compassion the Potter's were sending her. "There's no way to ease you into this, and there is no way to make this sound less crazy, but I'm from a world and a time that no longer exists. I come from 30 years in the future and I came back to ensure that no one else experiences the war and genocide that without intervention has become inevitable."

She looked Fleamont in the eyes, "Whenever I hear you speak all I can hear is your grandson. Its why I've been avoiding talking to you, and instead have been making conversation with your wife. Its easier. Growing up we were always told how much he looked like his father. Apparently Harry was the spitting image of James. But if seeing you affects me like this I worry about how I'll respond if I meet James. Especially as the last time I saw Harry alive he was only 17 years old. He was the closest thing I ever had to a brother, and I watched him die to the wand of the madman who killed your son and his wife less than 10 years from now.

"I'm came back to change that. The people who I will know from now on won't be the same people I knew, and my being here could prevent some of them from even being born, but they'll have a chance. They'll have the chance to have childhoods not marred by war and death. To have parents, and siblings, and a chance to grow old with those they love. It was an opportunity we never had before."

She looked to Hector, the man who was helping to make all of this possible, "The Hector I knew in the future was an old man who spent most of his life alone. But when we found out that we shared family, he agreed that coming to him first would be best. It would solidify an identity. But as you said, the lies we were telling are becoming the truth." She rolled her eyes at the sappy look her father was sending her, "He sealed me into the family by magic and will. I am now truly who I said I was." She crossed her fingers under the table as she asked her next question.

"Do you have a pensive? There are some things you all should see from before I came back. And though I do not put much faith in divination, I believe that this may have been fated. I don't want to assume anything of you, but I was given a message from a friend before we took the final steps to send me here, and though I am loath to take anything a Lovegood says literally, she may have been onto something."

When the three others at the table shared a look, Hermione felt like pulling out her hair. "What did I say? I know that look. You know something that I don't, and probably should be aware of."

It was Fleamont's first turn to speak in what felt like an eternity, and he did so with an odd little smirk on his face "After all of that, we certainly have a pensive to share with you. But that name, Lovegood you say? What an odd coincidence, as Lovegood is my wife's maiden name."

Seeing the way the others at the table were looking at her, she felt like she was at a surrealist vision of the Mad Hatter's tea party. So she said the one thing she could thing in response to her new knowledge.

"Fucking hell." She picked up the half empty glass in front of her and drained in dry, feeling half a moment's regret that the wine was wasted on her need for immediate relief. "Let's get to that pensive. Desert should wait until we're done as I'm sure there will be much more to talk about afterwards."


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello my lovelies,**

 **This is the point where I show you exactly where I deviate from cannon. My only issue with this chapter is I wasn't sure exactly how to format a pensive memory so I'm hoping this is clear enough. I've also cut the narrative off at an unanticipated place because it was turning into an unmanageable beast. You will have a second chapter full of pensive memories after this one.**

 **Apart from that I just want to thank you for your continued support. Reviews are like oxygen to me, and I love to hear from you.**

 **Any questions, feel free to PM me and I'll get back to you.**

 **Xo  
** **zsarah**

 **May 6, 1974**

They gathered around the small pensive in what Hermione correctly assumed to be the shared study of Fleamont and Euphemia. It was a comfortable space that seemed split down the middle with each side clearly expressing the distinct personality of the Potter who utilized it.

Facing each other on opposite sides of the room were the work spaces that gave the room it's sense of dichotomy. Backing onto the window was an old oaken monstrosity of a desk covered in layers of parchment and texts. What little of the desk could be see was chipped, scorched and stained. There were several small crucibles under glimmering stasis shields and what appeared to be a half finished colour chart, complete with hand mixed paints in a well used palate. The floor beneath the desk was uncovered and showed the scuff marks left by pacing boots.

The work-space on the other side of the room was the polar opposite. It was backed by a wall to wall filing system and in the gaslight of the room the walnut shone so smooth it almost looked like glass. There was a writing pad centered between a quill box, and a neat letter basket. The inks were in clean matching bottles in a tidy row at the top of the desk, and there was a tray of various sealing waxes and signets within easy reach. The floor beneath this desk was covered in an ornate silk rug in pristine condition.

The only sign of uniformity in the room was the wall opposite the door. It was covered floor to ceiling with built in shelves that seemed to blend both sides of the room together. The various sized spaces were filled with an eclectic mix of books, tools, awards, bric-a-brac, and photographs. The pensive had been removed from the bottom one of these shelves and was held up by the tripod that had previously been leaning in the corner.

As they stood around the stone dish, Hermione took her time sorting through her memories for the ones that would be best to share with those around her. She spared a moment's thought for the secrets she was going to share, but figured that the Potter's deserved to know the choices their son and his friends were making, and it was a small thing compared to saving their lives.

She also worried about the way these memories would affect Hector. Seeing her scars without knowing the details behind them was difficult enough for the man. She hesitated for a moment before ordering her memories one last time and pulling the long string of thoughts from her head. The silvery wisp clung to her wand and connected her mind to the bowl. When the strand of memory was released from her wand, it drifted peacefully around the waters below. The previously transparent shimmering liquid became milky with the swirling memories and began to glow as runes carved around the bowl activated with a touch of her finger.

She took a deep breath to assuage the small headache building from where she had withdrawn the memories. She looked around at those who would be seeing her past and wondered how it was possible to trust these three people so completely in such a short time.

"Alright," She took another steadying breath, "I know you think you are aware of where I come from, but I have to warn you," She looked between the Potters, "You will learn things about your son and his friends and what my future held for them. There will be hard truths, and I will be exposing secrets I was told in the strictest of confidence. Many of the things you will see stem from choices that haven't even happened yet. Please don't let my memories cloud your impressions of people who are just starting to live their lives. Even those who committed horrible crimes. Many of them are just children now, and they have a chance to be different people."

Her eyes moved to Hector, "I want you to all understand that I come from a different world. There were no laws, and very little of what was right or wrong mattered. What mattered at that point was survival." She looked away from his eyes to hide her shame. "I survived. I don't want what you're about to see change the way you view me. I have much I have to atone for."

"You're going to see a little bit of my school years, when we still had hope we could win. I'm going to show you some of the bleakest times I have ever experienced. There were times when the only thing that kept us going was knowing that the crimes we committed would cease to have happened. I took the burden of knowing what was done to ensure our survival. This is the future we are trying to avoid."

She looked around the pensive and fiddled with her hands, "I have a plan to fix some things, but others I will need help with. If at the end of this, you want no part in what I'm going to do, all I ask is that you keep what you have seen to yourselves. Hector and I are in this as deep as can be, but you still have an out." She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as she told them her worst fear and her greatest weakness. "I really don't want history to repeat itself. I'm tired of war"

A clock hidden amongst the shelves chimed the hour as the Potter's clasped hands.

"You have our trust." Euphemia's clear words rang with a truth and finality. "No matter what we see you have our trust and our support. You are truthful and earnest and though you say you have a penance to pay, I can see your soul is clear. No matter what we see in there, no matter how horrible it is, it is in the past." Euphemia reached across the pensive to touch Hermione's hand. "You may still hold the memories and the burden of it, but please let us do what we can to lessen the load."

Hermione felt a wave of relief wash over her. And it was with that feeling of hope and freedom in her mind, that she and the others reached out to touch the mists of her memories.

* * *

 _As always, being inside a pensive was slightly unnerving. Knowing that her awareness was sharing space with three others and they were witnessing a perfect replication of details she couldn't consciously recall was a marvel of both magic and the capabilities of the human mind._

 _Reality resolved around them and they were standing tall in the middle of a group of first year students waiting to be sorted in the Hogwarts great hall._

 _Hermione had intentionally picked this as her starting point. This was when life as she knew it truly began, it was also a happy memory for her to introduce many of the key players later in her story. Time began to play out around them as the sorting ceremony started._

"This was the night I was sorted into Gryffindor." _She pointed towards the head table,_ "You will see that Dumbledore is still headmaster and Minerva is still his deputy. But if you look down the line you will see some of the important faces of the future."

 _The students milling about them were unbelievably small to Hermione's memory. She easily found herself by the hair she was too young to know how to control. Among the sorted and soon to be, she saw friends who were long lost to her. Her eyes were drawn to each individual she recognized in the room. She saw Neville, Ron and Susan among the first years. She saw Ravenclaws whose minds were instrumental in getting her here, Hufflepuffs who died for their loyalties, Slytherins who helped hide the rebels behind their thick family wards and Gryffindors who gave themselves up to the front-lines of war_.

 _She gestured towards the far end of the table as they watched Susan get sorted into Hufflepuff. "_ The man with the black hair at the end of the table is named Severus Snape. Right now he is in your son's year, and is referred to by James and his friends as Snivellus." _She sneered slightly at the memories her reflection was bringing forward_ , "We hated him when we were younger, but we were children and didn't understand what he carried with him. I have much more in common with my memory of this man than I do with anyone living.

"We retrieved some of his memories after he had died; the boys targeted him as soon as they met on the train in first year. And though he can give as good as he gets, I would stay that odds stacked four to one would be considered bullying in the least and assault in most cases. He is friends with the girl James's eventually marries and it is a point of contention that goes beyond house rivalry. It is in large part to the breakdown of their friendship and the constant tormenting from your son that he seeks friendships within the darker elements. He is eventually drawn into the Dark Lord's service, and is the instrument of bringing a hopefully now irrelevant prophecy to Voldemort's attention."

 _Euphemia's face was twisted in an expression of grief and Fleamont's expression could only be described as glacial._

"If this is the case, we will be having words with our son when he returns home." _His words were just as cold as his expression, but his eyes softened as he directed his next words at her,_ "I have no doubt in you dear, but I am going to be owling Minerva regarding this. We have entrusted our children to Hogwarts and the teachers should be doing their best by them. I need proof before I take this up with James as I will not accuse him staining our family's honor without it. But if something as simple as this can help to change one mans future for the better than I will do so with pride."

 _That the Potter's immediately condemned the actions of the Marauders did wonders for her worries. There was one less thing she would have to actively step in on. If James listened to his parents and changed his behaviour, it may not be too late to change the direction the future takes._

 _She could see clearly in her memory how Snape's eyes lingered on Harry and the pinched look on his face was not just a scowl but a pained grimace at what she assumed were memories of the past. Dumbledore sat twinkling on his throne, and his eye's as well, lingered on Harry._

 _And then she focused on where she had so far avoided letting her eyes land. Harry. He was smaller than the rest of them, part from genetics and part from a poor upbringing. His glasses and hair both seemed too large for the tiny boy, and even from the distance Hermione was to specter of Harry, she could see the lines of his cursed scar peeking from beneath his fringe._

 _She pointed him out to Euphemia and Fleamont specifically, "_ This is your legacy. He only lived for seven years after this moment because of the choices that man made!" _Her voice rose and the gesture she made towards Dumbledore was violent in its intensity. "_ He thought it best to keep things from us until he died with all the answers. We puzzled most things out, but by then it was too late. Harry was the one prophesied to be able to defeat the dark lord. It could have gone either way, but with his death, the prophecy was fulfilled."

 _Fleamont looked at his grandson with tenderness, and Hermione kept speaking softly,_ "Dumbledore thought that he had all the answers. He sent Harry to live with his closest living relatives after the death of his parents; his mother's muggle sister. He sent my best friend to that house knowing he would be hated, resented, and abused by those who should have loved him. I don't know how it happened, but somehow despite all of that, he grew into one of the kindest people I have had the privilege of knowing."

 _She kept her eyes fixed on Harry as she let her hold on the memory relax. She watched as he faded from view and the images surrounding them swirled away. The mists resolved into a view of the dilapidated interior of the Shrieking Shack._

"This memory is going to be one of the largest secrets I will be revealing to you tonight. We learned most of it here in third year. We didn't realize until it was too late how large a part James's friends play in shaping the future."

 _She could see the ragged looking Sirius Black and three battered youths gathered around each other. At thirteen they still looked so young. It hurt her heart to see Ron trying to stand on his broken leg. A broken bone being at that point the worst pain he had experienced._

"You're looking at a moment of revelation from my third year at Hogwarts. Harry spent most of his life knowing nothing about his family. This is the night we learned about his father's best friends and how much they loved each other. In their first year they met and became inseparable. I'm not sure exactly when, but sometime between then and the end of second year they discover that one of their number was attacked as a child by the werewolf calling himself Fennir Greyback. Remus Lupin cannot remember a time when he hasn't feared the pain the moon brings. He was four years old when he was turned and has always though himself a monster because as much as his parents tried, that is how they treated his curse.

 _She avoided looking at anyone while she was speaking choosing instead to watch Remus burst in on the scene at hand. "_ When the boys found out about his lycanthropy, instead of fearing him they decided that they would never let him be alone again. None of their number are stupid and knowing that werewolves only pose a threat to humans, they start working on a way to become animagi. In their fifth year they all complete the transformations, and Remus has two full years with a true pack.

"We only discovered these things after spending the year being terrorized by dementors guarding the school. Because after twelve years in Azkaban, Sirius Black became the first known prisoner to escape. He did so using the animagus form he learned alongside your son. The world believed he was guilty of the betrayal of James and Lily Potter to the Dark Lord and the murders of Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles." _She forced herself not to think of what she would see if she encountered a dementor today, and if the creatures would even affect her worse than her own mind could._

 _Euphemia stared at her blankly and then spoke for the first time since entering the pensive, "_ Sirius Black is no more capable of betraying my son than you would be. You're both too tightly bound to my family." _A small twisted smile graced her mouth; equal parts fondness and exasperation,_ "James came home after his first year with a ritual scar on his hand, and told me a wild tale about using a ritual that Sirius found in the Black Archives. The silly boys decided to bind themselves in blood to each other after their first Yuletide apart." _She looked hard at Hermione, "_ There is no way that they could knowingly betray each other. What actually happened?"

 _Touching her own ritual scars, she ignored the question knowing the memory would soon answer it. Instead she listened to herself accuse Remus of treachery in accordance with his illness. The tone in her own voice made her flinch, "_ That was not my proudest moment. Remus Lupin, despite being a werewolf was one of the kindest men and best teachers we ever had; your son is fortunate to have him as a friend. Unfortunately, in my time he still hated himself for his curse. He wouldn't let himself be truly happy because he sees himself as a monster and people get caught in the crossfire between his self loathing and his desire to protect. He joined the wild packs as a spy right out of Hogwarts to pay the debt he felt he owed to Dumbledore. The man let a teenager risk his life because he was thankful for an education that should have been his right." _Her words once again grew louder while speaking of Dumbledore and she was glad she was afforded time to come to terms with her experiances before having to interact with the man._

 _She looked over the appearances of both men who would never live to their full potential; the broken convict who gave Harry hope that was never realized and the werewolf who died alongside the wife he had only started to get to know._ "As a youth, Remus let's James and Sirius walk all over him because he fears losing their friendship if he disagrees with them. And Sirius has it worse than he will ever let you know. Even before spending over a decade in Azkaban, he needed help. I spent several years living the godforsaken Black Estate and I've read the journals his brother kept. You can't begin to imagine what it is like for him living with his bitch of a mother."

 _The Potters were staring at the memory of the two men who were like brothers to their son. When Wormtail appeared and the arguments and accusations began to fly anew, Hermione took the time to explain what had happened to put each of the men in the position they were in that day._

"James and his family were targeted by Voldemort because unfortunately some idiots believe they are affected by true prophecy. Knowing that they had little chance against him, they went into hiding and used an powerful and effective means to ensure their safety. They used an almost forgotten ritual to trust their location to one person, and sealed that secret inside that person's mind. From there, the secret has but one outlet.

"It's a complex and mislabeled piece of magic called the _Fidelius Charm_. They thought they were so smart when they chose Peter Pettigrew, to hide the secret. Hoping to double their chances, they doubly doomed themselves when they let it spread to the right ears that Sirius Black was the only one who knew where they were. The boys believed it to be the ultimate prank. Sirius would run across all of Britain, and the Potters would be safe because even if Sirius was caught he wouldn't be able to give them away. But they were betrayed and when the dust settled, Wormtail was believed dead and Sirius took the fall. Between a corrupt ministry and wartime chaos, he never got a trial."

 _She watched as Snape burst into the scene, the fear and rage clouding his expression, making him resemble little more than a deranged madman. "_ I don't know the details of what happened between today and the time I come from, but Peter had been spying for Voldemort for some time before he sentenced his friends to death, and Snape had been spying for the other side for at least a full year. I'm hoping I've arrived early enough I can steer most of the young people at Hogwarts away from joining sides in the war. Honestly, I'm hoping to be able to avoid war altogether, Dumbledore's ideology is almost as warped as Voldemort's and the juxtaposing powers do our society more harm than good."

 _The memory faded into another and then another. She showed and explained Cedric's death, the Battle of the Ministry, Dumbledore's suicide, Harry's explanation of the Horcrux's, Harry, Ron, and herself on the run, her torture at the hands of Bellatrix, and finally the final battle and the events that followed Voldemort's triumph with Harry's body._

"We tried to keep fighting after Harry died. But there were more of them than us. We had already evacuated most of the little ones to Hogsmeade, but there was no point in all of us dying. Voldemort was mortal again and we thought even without the prophecy we had a chance. So we organized a strategic retreat. The forest was the only place we thought we would be safe to regroup."

 _The image of Neville killing Nagini faded away to show Hermione helping to coordinate the salvage and evacuation taking place. She was standing on the ramparts of the school sending and receiving patroni from those guarding various evacuation routes. There were tears streaming down her face, making tracks in the dirt and blood of the battlefield. She saw George Weasley, alone for the first time in his life, guarding a group of students, and even though it was her own memory, Hermione sighed with relief when they made it to the forest safely._

 _She watched Horace Slughorn's goldfish say his last goodbyes. It faded away when a large explosion rocked the school. She remembered Minerva telling her later than he had removed anything that could be used against them from the dungeons before cutting off the Dark Lords troops from a large portion of the castle and 20 other fighters._

 _One of Minerva's tabby cats informed her that she had cleared the Head's office and was ordering a full retreat. They watched in silence as memory Hermione ran down the battlements and met up with Ron from opposite sides of the castle wall. They spent the last of their energy sprinting down the the steps and across the grounds to the forest hand in hand._

 _Their sprint slowed to to a jog which slowed to a walk as the couple caught their breath and met up with other small groups. The dozen or so survivors remained silent apart from the quiet sobs of a young Gryffindor wizard who couldn't be more than 13._

 _Using the time the memory allowed, Hermione took the opportunity to explain what was happening, "_ The boy holding my hand is Ronald Weasley. At this point we have been fighting for almost a full day and at least for myself my magic reserves and will were gone. I was malnourished, sleep deprived and had been sending and directing patroni for a solid hour. I was also not the worst off. We have no idea who is alive or dead beyond the bodies we saw during the cease fire. Ron knows at this point at least one member of his family is dead. We find out shortly that his mother was killed as well. He will lose his sister hours from now and will believe his eldest brother dead for two years. We're the only thing holding each other together, and we did so until he died four years from this time. _" She drank in Ron's image. This was the first person she fell in love with, and to see herself by his side again hurt her heart._

 _The memory sped up around them and as afternoon faded to evening the small group was guided by the patroni of others to a large clearing filled with survivors. The glade was almost perfectly round in its natural form, and seeing the lush grass and healthy trees was unnerving. This place was so central to her mission and she was so connect to it, that its untouched state was confounding. She was glad that she hadn't had the time to think about it when she arrived in the past._

 _Time slowed around them again as Hermione explained this memory, "I remember arriving in the clearing and being so confused about how few of us made it. We learned that some fled to Hogsmeade, but this here is the majority of the survivors. There is only one group left to arrive on this night and they are the group that both doomed and saved us."_

 _As the memory regained its momentum they watched group split up and pick their way through the small crowds to find their loved ones, Ron was looking around frantically trying to find his family and the memory of Hermione was wild eyed looking for anyone familiar. Luna and Neville joined the pair followed by Percy and George. They watched Minerva and Filius embrace as Septima Vector mended a wound on Hector's forehead. Dennis Creevey was supporting a near faint Oliver Wood while a little girl in a Slytherin tie who had to be a firstie was having her wounds cleaned to by one of the Hogsmeade shop-wives. All around them there were tearful reunions, gaping injuries and the cries of grief. Arthur Weasley joined his children and friends, as Kingsley Shacklebolt watched them each responded to the news of Molly Weasley's death. George's already ashen face turned stony, Percy just sat down looking blank, Ron looked confused for a minute and then began shouting for Bill and Ginny._

 _As he was shouting for his sister, Hermione looked to where she knew Ginny would bust out of the trees in a moment. Her memory of the event seemed to be in slow motion as the young red head reached the clearing at a breakneck pace. Her family smiled when they saw her, but she didn't even look at them as she crossed whole of the clearing. Hermione watched as she slashed her wand through the air and raised shield just in time for countless spells aimed at those resting and healing to impact on it._

 _She could see in her memory what she had missed in the moment; death eaters surrounding the clearing on all sides and the desire to protect written clear as day across Ginny's face. As the young girl anchored her first force field using a trick she had to have learned from her eldest brother, a second charm flew from her wand and raced back the way she had come to block yet another barrage of spells. On either side of the clearing more spells flew from the trees to cut down those not shielded, and not prepared._

 _Ginny's face showed desperation now, as everyone in the clearing raised their exhausted wands to fight back. Suddenly a wind seemed to sweep around the clearing stalling everyone. Being a bystander to the event that shaped the next seven years of her life made her both love and hate Ginny Weasley, as she saw the look of desperation change to one of realization and despair._

 _With a banshee's scream, magic pulsed out of her like a visible heartbeat; echoing the two shields already cast it grew larger and brighter with each flare. As the magic rushed over the redhead's body and wand like static, her clothing burned away and the ashes swirled around her in the wind. The heat washed over the clearing in waves and everyone's eyes were fixed the form of the young woman before them. For a moment the magic ceased and in the silence Ginny began to glow. As her wand crumbled away, her skin began to crack and the blueish light within shone out in bright rays._

 _The Potters were stuck in silence watching, and Hermione continued her story, "_ From what we could tell Ginny fed her desire to protect with her magic. Her willingness to die for those she loved, bound her magic to her soul and we believe she poured both out into the shields." _As the cracks in Ginny's visage grew wider Hermione prepared the group for what they were about to see._ "Brace yourselves, what comes next isn't pretty,"

 _With one final pulse and a loud scream, Ginny shattered like glass and the previously contained blue light rushed out of her and the shock-wave that followed, pushed everyone in the clearing to the ground._


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello my lovelies!**

 **I am so incredibly sorry about the long wait between chapters. This one has been an absolute pain to get through, especially the last couple of scenes. I cut it off a little earlier than expected, but it shouldn't be nearly as long of a wait for the next chapter. The last set back I had was my browser closing while I was doing my final edit and that killed a lot of my motivation. I rushed through what I had to re-edit, so the end of this chapter might be a little rougher.**

 **Going back to the previous chapter, I did receive some excellent feedback regarding my formatting of the pensive memories. I understand that it might be a little difficult to understand with how I've been switching between italics and regular font as well as my choice to have Hermione interpret the memories rather than include conversation. At this point, the only reason I am sticking with present formatting is continuity. I will probably go back and change how I present this sometime down the road.**

 **In the time between updates I have moved into a new house, been to Ontario and back, survived most of the summer craziness of work, and got more than my fair share of sunburns at the beach. Hopefully I will have more time to write and update as fall creeps up on us and things slow down.**

 **Now for the necessary disclaimer:: There is quite a bit of violence, but nothing too graphic. But i may have skewed ideas on that considering the first movie I can remember watching was _The Road Warrior_ with my father. I am keeping it at a Teen rating for now, but please let me know if you think this would be more suited to a Mature tag.**

 **Also, while I was bogged down trying to work out the details of this chapter, I found myself wanting to include far more than I could and should. I kind of fell in love with characters I had meant to just mention and therefore, I now have plans for a prequel that will explain Hermione's past. I am really excited to be able to really dig into the characters we only get a glimpse of in Hermione's memories. I have zero time frame for that story as I only have a few scenes roughed out now.**

 **As always, big thanks to those who review, favorite and follow this story. You're the reason I didn't give up on this chapter, and you're my motivation to keep writing.**

 **xo**

 **zsarah**

* * *

 **May 6, 1974**

 _Euphemia, Fleamont, and Hector all flinched at the explosion that rocked her memory._

 _Seeing it from her present perspective, Hermione was aghast at how violent the event actually was. Bodies were thrown in all directions and shrubs ripped out of the ground with the force of the displaced air. As the magic swept through them, there was a crack akin to a sonic boom._

 _Her active memory only recalled feeling the magical equivalent of static discharge before being swept off her feet and crushed into the ground. And though she could see and hear all the details of the memory for the first time, the pensive couldn't recreate the oppressive feeling of the magic; or the scent of ozone that it left in the air. Without those sensations, Hermione felt as though the watchers had a dim view of what actually occurred._

 _Seeing the remnants of the blue magic crawl across bodies from the epicenter of the explosion was as disturbing an image for her as it was for those watching for the first time. The images that followed; she previously only recalled vaguely. In the moment she had been dazed and winded; her arm and side aching from what she would later find to be a fractured humerus and several cracked ribs._

 _As those closest to the epicenter began to stir, Hermione recalled the exact moment the smell in the air changed. The ground touched by the magic sizzled, as smoke rose from the crumbling grass. She remembered feeling as though Ginny herself was judging her as the magic swept over her skin. It left behind the combined sensation of being in an uncomfortably hot bath with the pins and needles of a limb coming back to life._

 _As the magic dissipated from the defenders, and they were able to raise themselves from the scorched ground, they looked about with confusion as the still blue aura was now concentrated like a mist in a circle around the clearing. The trees were smoking as the mist crawled up them. The smaller branches and leaves disintegrated away to ash as the bark was burnt black. The confusion of those who witnessed the event first hand was mirrored on the faces of those now watching Hermione's memory in the present._

 _As the perimeter of the clearing was burning away, the death-eaters in the fringes of the forest began to writhe on the ground. One after another, they began to scream in agony as the mist surrounding them changed from blue to red. Where the magic touched their skin, it left burns that quickly turned from scalding crimson, to blistering white. Before anyone could do more than stare, the mist coalesced into solid tendrils, only to rear up and plunge into the bodies still on the ground._

 _It was to this day, the most gruesome thing Hermione had ever seen. She watched her own memory with rapt attention as the still living and screaming death-eaters were pulled apart by the now wild magic. Their bodies riddled with holes that both bled and burned; limbs and entrails were torn in all directions and their remains scattered around the periphery. The wet ripping sounds of flesh torn from bones and the snaps and crunches as those bones were crushed and broken. It couldn't have taken more than a minute for the tortured vocalizations to stop and only a further few moments for the carnage to be complete. The gore shone in the moonlight leaving an unnaturally perfect and even circle of blood and viscera around the previously lush clearing._

 _The space was unrecognizable from what it previously had been. Where there had previously been grass and shrubs there was now only dust and ash. The glade had been a close to a circle as nature could create, but it was now several meters wider on all sides with unnatural edges bordered by blackened trees and scorched stones dripping with the blood of the recently slaughtered. The air was acrid and bitter, and seemed to hold the voices of the dead longer than it had any right to._

 _After the echoes faded to an eerie silence, the younger children in the group began to whimper, and the newly injured let out previously repressed moans of pain which goaded everyone into action. As they scrambled to help the wounded and assess the recently deceased in the group, the red glow mirroring the blood around the clearing faded back to a soft blue. The magic flickered around the edges of the circle, and she could see how the now thirsty ground sucked up the magic and blood until there was only bare bones, dry flesh and the remnants of robes left lying in the ashes._

 _Those viewing the memory with her were silent watching the aftermath. Euphemia looked a little green as they stood vigil over the memory while the ghosts of Hermione's past triaged the injured and drew robes over the several who had been killed in the short battle. A handful of witches began to cast detection and analysis charms around the now open space and as they read the results, Flitwick approached their number. Hermione saw herself cradling her left arm to her chest and moving gingerly around the clearing calling out for her friends one by one. Neville was the first clearly familiar face she found and she watched herself collapse into his arms._

 _The silent watch was broken by Fleamont, "_ I've read about magic almost exactly like that; protective events rooted in sacrificial love." _His words were quiet. "_ It's some of the darkest magic recorded in the Potter Grimoires. One of my ancestors bound it as a family secret in the 18th century when the consequences of Eldritch and Chaos magic came to light." _He was clearly confused as to how the magic he had seen was possible,_ "It's not one of those magics that you can stumble upon, the fact that young Miss. Weasley was able to bind her soul to her magic in such a way is almost unbelievable. You have to have the knowledge of the mechanics and possibilities in order in initialize that kind of magic."

 _Hermione smiled softly at him, "_ That ritual was open to anyone who cared enough to look past public record after October 31, 1981. The woman your son married in my time was an intellectual, and our best guess is that Lily found the information when she gained access to the Grimoires after marrying James. The world was in open war at that time, and she would have been looking for anything that could change the tide, even at the expense of her soul. From the stories I have heard, Voldemort and the death-eaters were a hair's breadth from winning, and everyone was desperate.

"When James and Lily sacrificed their lives in protection of their son, it created a similar shield around Harry as to what you just saw surround the clearing, but instead of a place, their shield protected a person. I was 16 when our group of friends theorized that the ritual was repeatable under the correct circumstances. Ginny's knowledge of how Harry survived allowed her to protect us all."

 _While Fleamont nodded in understanding, the mists of memory swirled around them again and solidified to show a smaller group gathered in what looked to be a cellar._ _There was Andromeda Tonks with tired eyes and baby Teddy in a sling against her body; Professors Flitwick and McGonagall in the corner of the room, locked in close conversation; Hector and Hermione both reading over documents in front of them; Ron, George, Percy and Arthur Weasley moving around the room, but with eyes always on the remaining members of their family; and Luna Lovegood and Oliver Wood clasping hands in silence._

 _She watched the memory of herself jump at the sound of a door opening, and everyone in the memory tensed visibly when they heard feet traveling down the stairs. From the shadows above, the group was joined by the exhausted looking pair of Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones. Wands and knives were drawn and oaths of loyalty were reaffirmed before the stairs creaked once again. From the darkness emerged Viktor Krum and Charlie Weasley. The same oaths were made with serious faces, and then with a surge the group surrounded the men with hugs and shouts of joy._

"After we were ambushed in the forest we retreated to various safe-houses scattered across the country and began using blood oaths to affirm our identities like the one I used to prove my loyalty to you. Somewhere between the planning and execution, the group you see before you became the inner circle of the resistance as the key points of communication." _The conclave was mismatched and ragged, with ages and specialities across every spectrum imaginable._

"We are currently looking at one of the cellars on the Longbottom property. Several of us stayed here for two months before deciding it was best to move on and keep it as a back up. It was one of Augusta's prepared bolt holes and she kept the wards alive for us until she died." _She pointed to Neville, "_ Her grandson then took the wards upon himself after that. I almost think him and the others who held our wards sacrificed the most out of all of us."

 _The group in her memory settled around a long transfigured table, some sitting and some standing, each pulling out a sheaf of parchments as she continued to explain what was happening about them,_ "This is about three weeks after the events of the forest. If I remember right, at this time we had 13 rotating safe houses active, and there were about 150 people working on a plan to save the world. That number of safe houses dwindled down along with the number of us alive. When I left, there were maybe two dozen of us left spread out over three safe houses."

 _She looked over the people that were gathered. They all looked so young to her. The war had aged them all far quicker than it should have and they changed drastically between injuries and stress in time they spent together. Her eyes got caught on Susan, who had already changed so much from the girl who started Hogwarts._

 _The last of the Bones' had cut her thin red hair off at her nape sometime during the year Hermione had been on the run, and while the young woman moved around the table in the memory Hermione could see how the last of the softness had melted off of the previously chubby girl. What was left was all sharp corners and hollowed cheeks, with eyes full of firm resolve._

 _She gestured to Susan as she spoke on her thoughts while the memory played out, "_ The Bones' name is telling in a way that few are. At the time we completed the ritual there were only three safe-houses left and they were the ones that could be guarded with Bones' family magic."

 _Hermione had a dim awareness of her eyes glassing over as she gave credit to one of the most important people of the resistance,_ "Susan went to her cottage this very night and worked old magic on her very bones. I never want to go against a Bones' that is willing to open their grimoire, because some of the magic in there turns my stomach to think about to this day. But that knowledge kept her cottage safe for the entire seven years at the sacrifice of her ability to leave it. The cottage became something between a sanctuary and a command central to us." _She watched the Susan's movements knowing that the ritual she would soon preform would change her into someone completely different than girl who stood before them,_ "She wasn't the same after this night. No one who works that kind of magic comes out unscathed"

 _She thought about what it took for her to get to this point, the pain and sacrifice of not only lost lives, but lost innocence and freedom as well._ "The last three years of preparation were touch and go with the Bones cottage as our only truly secure location, we were worried none of us would be left to complete the ritual, so we attempted to use the same magic to guard our other safe-houses. It was a brutal ritual, and one of the most closely guarded Bone's secrets. But Susan shared the information with anyone willing to attempt it. Only Neville and Andromeda were able to complete what the ritual took, and this cellar and the Black townhouse were added to the very short list of the other secure places we had." _She looked at the people who had given so much for her to be here._

 _Fleamont's brow creased in a way that if she squinted, he could have been Harry's twin. "_ With so many of old families whittled down, how much family magic was shared with you?"

 _His words were almost accusatory, and understanding his meaning, Hermione hurried to reply,_ "Not as many as you would think, and none to the extent that I could usurp or interfere with any family claimants. Especially as I'm already sealed into the Dagworth-Granger magics. But thinking about it now, your family could have proved problematic." _She saw the Potters both nodding and Hector looked at her questioningly._

 _She addressed her father, before he could ask his question._ "What I mean is, Harry was the closest thing I had to a brother; and our magic recognized that. It was subtle; nothing more than being able to use each other's wands despite drastic incompatibilities. If I was not already sealed into the Dagworth-Granger line, I could see the Potter magic accepting me purely from familiarity."

 _She thought about all the other magics she knew and realized that the amount of family magic she knew was unusual for anyone, let alone a muggleborn. "_ The Weasley magics work well for me, but they don't recognize me as one of their own. The Bones and Longbottom Grimoires were open to me for years, but more in terms of knowledge rather than acceptance. Luna, being the last of the Lovegood's, shared what she could. But I only understand the wild magics on a shallow, academic level," _Looking directly at Euphemia she continued,_ "And you well know there is nothing academic about any of the gifts your family holds."

 _Her thoughts turned to many of the spells she used on a regular basis, "_ I know more Black magic, than anything else, and knowing how close they hold their secrets, that may prove problematic. I spent years living in the Black Townhouse, which was the seat of the family after 1981. Andromeda Tonks spent weeks after this forcing the magic and the wards to submit to her. She was never properly disinherited from the main line, and her father taught all his daughters as much as he could. She actually used her grandson's blood to lock the wards, as Black blood is all too common in other families. She then taught all of us as many family secrets that she could." _Hermione focused on Andromeda sitting at the table, rocking baby Teddy. Already there was a glint of madness in her eyes and her ashen hair was unwashed and wild, making her resemblance to her elder sister unnerving._

 _By the time Hermione had left, the madness that was all too common in the Black line had set in. The last few years they had together, Andromeda had taken to referring to Hermione as 'Her Little Star.' It was impossible for her to not secretly compare the woman to Miss. Haversham._

"I'm half convinced she taught us all she did almost purely out of spite. She lost her whole family to the war and was left with only baby as a reminder. She took us all on as family, and I won't know until I meet another Black, how much my connection to their magic will affect me."

 _She let her words trail off as they watched the conversation at the table turn serious, as those in Hermione's memory discussed the options that were open to them. They had clearly decided that the only feasible choice was to prevent what had already happened. It was a testament to how far gone the world was that this was even considered and accepted. The watchers remained silent as hours of memory passed before their eyes in moments._

 _The group in her memory went over their findings from the clearing; how Ginny's magic was still active within the circle, that in order for someone new to enter, blood was needed, that the space existed in the fourth plane. From there, the initial details of a ritual to send someone back in time were hammered out._

 _Hermione remembered the exact point where things went beyond her understanding and she watched her younger self put down the quill she had been writing with as her eyes darted back and forth between Professor Flitwick and Charlie Weasley gasped and paled at almost the same instant._

 _They listened to Charlie shush the brainstorming and take the lead with the realization that it would take an equitable balance in order to work a stable ritual. Flitwick took over the notes at that point, standing on his stool and using his wand to move parchments and papers around the table, clearly looking for something specific. As he found the diagram he was looking for, he began muttering to himself as he drew in the air with his wand. Bright lines and flashes of numbers and runes lit up the room before branding themselves on the ever unrolling scroll of parchment. Occasionally someone would lean over his shoulder and point out something and from there, things would disappear or change form. As the number of unintelligible runes grew, so did the agitation of the small professor. One by one people around the table stepped back as the level of magic reached beyond their knowledge. Charlie was the last one to back down after pointing at an area of pictographs that lead to Flitwick rearguing the images. He continued to wave his wand until with a flash, the magic still in the air branded itself to the end of an almost comedically long roll of parchment. The small professor sat heavily in the chair as the group pressed together to look over the finished document. Silence grew leaden as those who read it paled._

"Flitwick was the one that realized exactly what it would take to send someone back in time. You really don't want to know all the details but because the clearing technically existed outside of space and time; in a similar manner to what was left in Bermuda after the destruction of Atlantis; what we had to do was essentially a fission reaction in the fourth dimension. It took years of balancing sacrifices to build up enough power to actually use that space to catapult myself through time. The ritual was beyond dark, touching on Soul magic, bastardized Necromancy, Blood and Death Magics, the whole shebang. I am pretty sure that both Charlie Weasley and Flitwick have dabbled in Eldritch or Chaos magic, because they took more of the burden of planning that any of the rest of us, and after a certain point, they were the only ones that could work the equations. Madness took Charlie after the last unwilling sacrifice, and he begged us to kill him until we gave in." _Looking at the memories of the people she had left behind it was hard not to remember how many of them had died. She cleared her throat and continued with her story._

"It was quickly put on either myself or our other Muggleborn, Dennis Creevey to go back. Eventually, between my being older than Dennis and my loose ties to Hector, I was recognized as the best choice. It was also decided who had to survive until the end. We settled that Hector, Luna, Flitwick, McGonagall, Ron, and Victor would be the final elements of the ritual. But Ron was killed three years before completion and his place was taken by his brother George. And when McGonagall had a heart attack just six weeks before the end, Dennis volunteered in her stead."

 _She left out the facts that Dennis had become a liability after the death of his brother, and that George would have taken his own life anyway. Without direction and order Denis would disappear for days and return with injuries that he couldn't remember receiving. George would simply go silent for weeks at a time focused on nothing but the work he had in front of him. Following those periods, he would then have a manic turn where he would talk for both himself and his dead twin, often to the memories of his deceased family. The fact that they took such great joy in sacrificing themselves to fuel her time-travel, was a sobering thought on the memories she had left of her friends._

 _The memory of the dim candlelit cellar faded from view to be replaced with a warm bedroom lit by midmorning sunlight. The windows were open and there was a gentle breeze blowing at the gauzy white curtains. It was a dreamy image; almost to the point of being fae. The room looked like it should be a quiet place for lovers to waste the day away in each other's company while the scent of sunshine and clean linen filtered in through the windows._

 _The serenity however, was marred with an image of herself; prone and nude. It could have been a coy position, if she were propped up on her elbows and looking over her shoulders. In fact it was one she had found quite useful to entice a lover back to this very bed._

 _In any other circumstance she would be appalled to have her father see her in such a state, even with the sheet draped over her lower body to preserve her modesty. But with the number of times she had been disrobed for medical procedures she had little concern left. It wasn't delicate sensibilities about her virtue that caused her enough discomfort to almost keep her from showing this memory; but it was knowing that the sight of what had been inflicted on her body would make everyone else uncomfortable._

 _She remembered the room smelling of blood, sweat and potions rather than anything so pleasant as breakfast in bed. The bedside table was covered in ointments, potions, and poultices and there were bandages both fresh and bloodied floating in the air around the bed._

 _She vacantly watched those with her stare agape at the broken body in the bed. She had sympathy for them. To hear that someone had been tortured, and to see the immediate aftermath were two different things. Her back and shoulders were shredded by whip marks and deliberate cuts spelling crude words and insults. They ranged from ragged and scabbed marks that seemed to be weeks old all the way to fresh slices that were still bleeding slowly. What could be seen of her thighs were in a similar state, and through the white sheet drew a clean line over her body, her skin did not bear that same privilege. She watched her own hands grip the wrought iron headboard with white knuckles as the clean bandages dove towards her. They wrapped up her back and circled around her ribs._

 _Euphemia and Hector kept silent as they watched a twitchy looking Susan Bones circle the bed, busying herself tying off the loose ends. The flighty looking woman waved her wand over a soiled bandage covering the back of her shoulder revealing an infected looking bite mark that had clearly been made by a human. Hector placed a gentle hand on that same shoulder, and all Hermione could think was how strange it was that one could feel physical sensations from others while sharing a pensive memory._

 _They continued watching until only Hermione's bruised face was uncovered by bandages. While Susan dabbed different ointments on the marks, Filius and Hector sat in the corner of the room talking quietly. When Susan nodded slightly, both men approached the bed and helped her turn her patient over onto her side. Filius fussed with some of the pillows while Hector helped clear away empty potion vials._

 _As Hermione watched herself get doctored, she felt the need to fill the silence and spoke up on the events that lead to this memory. "_ This is the aftermath of being held captive by death-eaters for just over two weeks." _She thought back to that time,_ "I was on a supply run between Devon and Kent and it was a whole lot of bad luck that we sprung a trap and were surrounded. Arthur Weasley was killed in the initial fight and I was captured with Septima Vector and Ron. I was the only one that made it out.

"It was lucky that the next death-eater that was captured by our group knew where I was being held, and we were fortunate enough that the Dark Lord was out of the country consolidating his victory over Eastern Europe. And while the rescue mission was reckless and needless, it ended up being one of the most successful raids of the resistance. We gave thanks to Arthur, Ron, and Septima for giving up their lives and more than one person expressed that they were almost grateful for the deaths and torture. I would have torn my own people apart for the risk they took if it hadn't successfully lead to the deaths of 26 death-eaters with only two additional losses on our end. With Malfoy Manor cleared out and burned to the ground we took away a huge tactical advantage for the enemy and gained enough supplies to see us almost all the way through the next three years. And I couldn't be mad at our people when they managed to retrieve the only wand that has ever worked perfectly for me."

 _The memory Hermione sighed slightly as she settled, a slightly dazed expression on her face as she clung to the vinewood wand that memory Hector had just handed her._ "It was on display in one of the parlours in the manor from the first time I had the pleasure of being a guest at that godforsaken shit-hole. I still have trouble believing that George recognized it years later."

 _Hermione made a note to visit Ollivander's at some point just to be certain that there would be no issues with a duplicate wand floating around in the past. It would open herself up to the risk of questions from the old man, but as she was unsure of when her wand had been crafted, and being that it's designs were unique enough to be recognizable it was a risk she had to take. She shook her head to keep her mind from wandering off track and to refocus herself on the story._

"I was almost feral when they got me out of there. I've heard stories of muggle soldiers who had been held for years and were still sane. But they only had me for two weeks, but from what I remember it felt like two decades and I was probably days away from loosing myself to insanity. One of the bastards must have known something about muggle torture methods because I was hardly allowed to sleep, and was only fed enough to keep me alive and conscious. After Septima killed two of the guards and then herself, they took more precautions with me. I was physically chained instead of magically bound and they broke my leg to keep me on the ground. The entire time I was awake, they were finding new ways to cause me pain. I wouldn't have been able to escape even if I was given an opportunity."

 _After she was the only one left, they went easy with the crucios, not wanting their toy to expire before they wished. After the number of times she had already been under the curse, she was lucky to get out with only mild nerve damage. She wondered again about the mechanics of a pensive, because even inside her own mind she could feel the numbness that sometimes crept down her left arm. She flexed her hand, even knowing it wouldn't bring back any feeling._

 _Euphemia was reaching out as she listen, as if she unconsciously wanted to comfort the broken girl on the bed. "_ When they got me back to the safehouse, I begged for them to remove my memories. It only took a few hours of describing everything that happened to me for Filius to give in and obliviate me. I only remember what I told him and what I watched of those memories he saved for me." _She watched herself wince as Filius and Hector explained everything that happened within the resistance over the two weeks of her absence and what lead up to her being retrieved._

"Dissociating memories from the mind isn't the best way to deal with trauma, but I was needed and I couldn't be hampered by the weakness of emotional breakdowns, flashbacks or stress disorders. One day I might work to incorporate those memories back into my psyche, but right now, that is years down the road, and at after this much time I'm not sure what the point would be. Either way I won't be doing it until the day comes I never have to worry about war or killing again."

 _In the memory the door to the room opened and George Weasley and Minerva McGonagall entered. The former bearing a laden tea tray and a tear stained face and the later only a look of bone deep weariness and thick folder of parchment. Chairs were pulled around the bed and without any comment, the room went from hospital to boardroom with George going over the past month's casualties and inventory while Minerva got a shark-like smile on her face as she said that Lucius Malfoy was captured alive._ _She remembered how the only living Malfoy had crucioed Ron until his mind was gone and his heart gave out, and she remembered the vengeance that was visited on him for it._

 _She touched the angry looking scars on her wrists as she remembered the feeling of her chafed and torn skin wrapped in clean bandages._ "I picked this memory to show you just where I am coming from when I say I will do anything to not have to go to war again." _As the memory of herself faded away the mists around them reformed to show the last hours she had in the time she was born in. "_ And I picked this one to show you just what was sacrificed for us to get me here."

 _She wasn't sure what effect watching this memory would have on her now. At the time this memory had taken place, her mind had been singularly focused on her purpose. Her breakdown after her arrival in the past had been more from relief at the cumulation of years of hard work. But she had been avoiding thinking about how her friends and comrades had either killed themselves or ceased to exist with the destruction of her timeline._

 _It had only been a few days, but in those few days she felt like she had lived a whole new life. The wounds of the past were already starting to heal with the hope of success. And for the first time in her life there was the promise of a future that was only scarred by war, not killed by it._

 _As the barren clearing, surrounded by gnarled trees faded into view, her heart clenched in her chest. It was nearly unchanged from the time Ginny's magic had initially ripped apart the world around them. But now, that which was beyond the clearing wavered as if it were behind a thick pane of glass. There were bones scattered in haphazard piles in the middle of the clearing, rather than just around the perimeter, and they all had an almost imperceptible luminescence to them._

 _Gathered around those bones was a circle of witches and wizards centered around a ragged version of herself. Dressed in the clothes she wore when she arrived in the past, she was staring wide eyed into space as each of the people in the circle around her cut the tip of a finger and painted rune after rune on her face. Some were layered, like the norse symbols on her temples and the Naacal pictographs drawn on her chin and jaw, the blood of the entire group mingling as person after person traced over the mark. But some were made by individuals like the crossed 'Dagaz' smeared across her forehead by Hector._

 _The marks were a mix of ritual elements and her friends wishes for her life. When everyone stepped away, the observers could see that there was hardly and inch of skin on her face that wasn't red with drying blood. As the group spaced themselves out in a rough circle around the clearing, Flitwick began to chant as his wand twitched in an intricate pattern. The small man's whitened and sightless eyes were unerring fixed on the focal point of the ritual; Hermione herself. Soon, the others focused with an eerie intensity on her and their voices joined his as each member of the circle added to the swelling cacophony. The voices carried over one another until they were indistinguishable from each other. There seemed to be no pattern in the vocalizations, but Hermione knew that the chant was a mix of different languages, ranging from Manx to Ona, to Latin and Greek interspersed with ancient Egyptian. Words in Sumerian, Gobbledygook, and the guttural consonant heavy words drilled into their minds by Charlie Weasley and Flitwick himself closed off the circle's chant._

 _As the last syllables echoed in the darkness, a single voice lifted in the same haunting language. "F'goka n'gha ch'ya pha'hai'yar."_

 _Hermione hardly recognized the sound of her own voice as she spoke the haunting language and watched herself turn in a circle as the words were repeated over and over. The people who surrounded her, broke the circle and one by one approached her and slid their wands into the handbag tied to her waist. The last person to do so was the frail and elderly version of Hector who had become as much a father to her before she left as he was now. The old man took one of her hands in his and pressed a kiss into her palm. As he walked away to join the reformed circle she felt tears start to roll down her cheeks, matching those that she cried in the memory._

 _As the echos of her chant cascaded over the clearing, a blue glow began to seep from the bones spread like water across the area. It trailed over the ground until it gathered at the feet of those surrounding her. As the mist touched each of them, knives were drawn from hidden sheaths. Dennis and George both had face splitting grins and they held their knives to their throats, eyes closed with the hope of seeing their families again. Victor's face held enough sorrow to almost break her heart once again. His eyes never looked away from her as his shaky hand lifted his small skinning knife to rest on his collarbone. Filius' eyes were sunken and milky with cataracts as his eyes never left hers. A wicked looking khanjar rested steadily on his shoulder and his face was a stoic mask as the cold brass touched the skin of his neck. Luna looked more like herself than she had in years as she tapped the flat of her father's sgian-dubh on her cheek. Her memory of Hector just twitched his lips in a small sad smile as his arthritic knuckles cracked as they whitened around the small paring knife that was normally used for his potion preparations._

 _Hermione braced herself as she remembered what was soon to happen. As the memory of herself reached a crescendo in her chant, the blue magic rose higher in the air and the tendrils of it wrapped around her. She remembered the way the magic felt. The warmth of it reminded her of summer at the Burrow, sitting against Ginny's legs while the younger girl tried in vain to braid her hair into some semblance of order. Those were happy days, where they talked about boys like normal girls, forgetting for those minutes all the horrors they had faced in their young lives. She remembered the feeling of peace and hope filling her, and knowing it was time, ended h_ _er chant abruptly. The moment her words stopped each person holding a knife drew it quickly across their own throats._

 _As her friends fell to their knees, blood pooled on the ground the mist faded to bright red as it seemed to absorb the blood as fast as it flowed. The coils of magic turned cold and wrapped tightly around her. She watched herself struggle against the bonds that were constricting the breath from her lungs as her friends died._

 _George was the first to stop moving, his neck cut almost halfway through, Dennis and Filius followed him to stillness soon after. She watched the moments stretch on like hours and as one by one her friends died in front of her. Victor was the last to bleed out onto the ashy ground and she watched his last breath leave his bloody lips. She remembered the magic tighten further and for a moment fear, panic and a desire to live take over. She watched herself gasp for breath until just when she thought she was going to die as well, the magic flared bright white, and the perspective of the scene shifted. Suddenly they were standing in the same clearing that Hermione had arrived in. They watched her collapse to her knees in grass, when with a whoosh they were pulled upward as the memory faded to mist._


End file.
